


From Heads Unworthy

by intheinkpot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Harry Potter Dies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rebel Leader Hermione Granger, put the archive warning to err on the side of caution with Harry's death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheinkpot/pseuds/intheinkpot
Summary: Unable to destroy Nagini, Harry dies at the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione saves Narcissa from Voldemort's wrath, and now it's up to them to figure out how to destroy the snake and bring Voldemort down. Told as a series of drabbles and one shots.





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione sways on her feet, her head spinning. Harry's eyes stare up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, empty and sightless. They hadn't been able to kill Nagini. The last Horcrux. The key to killing Voldemort. Voldemort stares at Harry with narrowed eyes, suspicious. Hermione can't blame him. They had thought Harry dead just a few minutes ago. Hermione hopes and prays it's just another trick. But Harry's eyes are dull, his body limp, his chest still.

 

Any second the Death Eaters will begin to celebrate. She can't be here for that. She can't...

 

Bellatrix Lestrange steps closer, eyes alight, a cruel triumphant expression slowly crossing her features as it sinks in that, this time, Harry is really -

 

Hermione chokes back a sob, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle it. Ron sinks to his knees beside her. Neville squeezes Ron's shoulder, the sword of Gryffindor hanging loosely in his other hand.

 

"Narcissa," Voldemort says in a high cold voice that sends shivers up and down Hermione's spine.

 

Narcissa Malfoy huddles off to the side with her husband and son. Her hands clutch Draco's shoulders. Bellatrix whips around to face them, her expression turning suddenly nauseous.

 

"My Lord," Bellatrix begins, sounding desperate, and Hermione doesn't understand, doesn't care to understand, she's tired, she wants this nightmare to end -

 

"Silence, Bellatrix," Voldemort snaps. He pins Narcissa with cold eyes. Nagini slithers around his feet, forked tongue flicking, eyeing Harry's body. Bile burns the back of Hermione's throat. The Sword of Gryffindor gleams. Could she kill the snake? Seize the sword and forfeit her own life so Voldemort can be killed?

 

"In the forest, you assured me Harry Potter was dead." Voldemort pauses. Hermione's heart sinks, understanding, even before he continues. "And yet he lived."

 

Narcissa had protected Harry, but why? Her stomach churns as she watches Narcissa squeeze Draco's shoulder and step forward. Lucius tugs Draco away from her, eyes wide, face pale.

 

"I did," Narcissa says.

 

"My Lord," Bellatrix tries again, eyes wild, "please, surely there must be a mistake, the boy must have tricked her somehow - " She casts a desperate glance at Narcissa. "Cissy, tell him. The boy had to have - "

 

"Potter did not trick me," Narcissa says softly.

 

Hermione's temple throbs. Harry is dead, and Narcissa Malfoy betrayed Voldemort. _Harry is dead..._

 

Voldemort's expression twists in fury. He raises his wand and points it at Draco. Narcissa's eyes widen. Bellatrix leaps in front of Draco, her hands raised placatingly.

 

"My Lord, Draco has done nothing but serve you faithfully, please - "

 

For a moment, Hermione thinks Voldemort is going kill Bellatrix too. But then his expression turns considering. "Very well. You make a fair point, Bellatrix." Then, partly to the crowd, he continues in a louder voice, "Let me demonstrate the mercy of Lord Voldemort. I will grant your request and spare the boy. Any who join me now will be forgiven for their previous...digressions."

 

Theatrics, another attempt to subdue the crowd once more. Hermione wants to throw up.

 

Voldemort turns his wand on Narcissa. "My mercy extends only so far. To aid you in your decisions, allow me to demonstrate what happens to those who stand against me."

 

Draco's eyes are wide and watery. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Lucius watches, appearing hollow and distant, though his fingers dig into Draco's shoulders. Bellatrix grits her teeth and clenches her fists, but makes no move to interrupt.

 

Narcissa meets Voldemort's gaze with calm resignation. "I love you, Draco. Don't look."

 

Something inside of Hermione snaps. Enough. _Enough._ "Neville," she hisses under her breath, "get Harry."

 

Neville nods. Harry deserves better than whatever Voldemort will deem fit for his body. He deserved better than all of this.

 

Ron's dulled eyes brightened slightly. "Hold on to the sword."

 

Neville's grip on it tightens. Hermione doesn't have to tell Ron to be ready. He's already rising to his feet, determined.

 

Hermione doesn't have a plan, exactly, but she knows she can't stand by while someone who helped Harry gets murdered in front of her. If Narcissa's own family won't help her, Hermione will. Harry wouldn't have let this happen. Hermione won't either.

 

Voldemort opens his mouth, and she makes her move. She sprints toward Narcissa with Ron on her heels. Caught off guard, the Death Eaters do not have time to react. Voldemort hisses, swing his wand toward her and Ron, and Hermione ducks. A green flash of light in the corner of her eye, and she feels the curse hit the ends of her hair as it streaks past. Before Voldemort can try again, Hermione grabs Ron's hand, seizes Narcissa's wrist and Apparates through the damaged wards of Hogwarts.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's feet hit the ground hard, and the three of them spill onto the forest floor. Her wand flies from her hand, and her wrist folds awkwardly under her when she falls. Hissing, she gets to her feet, cradling her wrist to her chest. Fear spikes through her, remembering her last disastrous attempt at a hasty side along Apparition. But when she spins to face Ron, she lets out a sigh of relief. He's a little dazed but getting to his feet. Narcissa flips herself over onto her back and blinks up at the tree branches over head. Pale and stunned, she doesn't move.

 

Worried, Hermione kneels beside her. "Are you alright?" she asks. "Are you hurt?" She runs her uninjured hand down Narcissa's arms, checking for any signs of Splinching that might be hidden by her robes.

 

That has Narcissa bolting upright, slapping her hand away. "I'm fine, thank you," she says coldly. "Keep your hands to yourself."

 

Hermione blinks in surprise. 

 

"You could show some bloody gratitude," Ron snaps. "She just saved your life." Throwing a glare at Narcissa, he kneels next to Hermione and gently pulls her arm away from her chest. "You're hurt."

 

"Landed wrong. It's nothing."

 

Narcissa stands, brushes the dirt and leaves from her robes, and wanders a few feet away, posture tense and closed off.

 

Ron frowns at Hermione's wrist. "I'm still rubbish with healing spells."

 

"It's fine. I can handle it. Just need to find my wand, I dropped it when we landed..." Hermione looks around. Narcissa bends over, scoops something off the ground and turns back to them. She hands Hermione her wand without a word.

 

As Hermione tries to focus on her wrist, Narcissa says to Ron, "I do not understand how you survived this long if you can't perform even the most basic of healing spells."

 

Ron's ears turn red. "We managed just fine, no thanks to your lot."

 

Narcissa scoffs. "We have a very different definition of 'fine' then."

 

"Shut up, both of you," Hermione snaps. "I can't concentrate."

 

"Sorry," Ron says.

 

Narcissa says nothing.

 

Without their bickering, Hermione heals her wrist with ease. Rotating and rubbing it, she casts about for something else to occupy her attention, unwilling to risk letting her thoughts drift for even a second. "At least we have the tent back." She hadn't held much hope it would still be here, but she had not been able to think of where else to go. 

 

"Huh?" Ron twists to look behind him. The tent is exactly where it was left when they had been taken by the Snatchers. "Brilliant." Then dryly he adds, "At least something went - "

 

He falls abruptly silent, eyes dulling. Voice thick, he asks, "Do you think Neville got out with - with Harry's - "

 

Hermione swallows past the lump that lodges itself in her throat.  _ I hope so, _ is what she thinks, but what she says is, "Of course he did, Ron." She blinks away the tears. Jumps to her feet and strides toward the tent. There isn't time for grief, no time to spare thinking about the enormity of everything they’d lost over the past few hours. The snake is still alive. One last Horcrux. They have to destroy it before Voldemort makes more. 

 

She smacks the tent flap aside and enters with her head down. Can't let herself think about how they’re back in this tent, but Harry will never join them again, won't sleep in the bunk he slept in for the past year, won't pour over books with her at the table, won’t - 

 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Hermione forces those thoughts aside. She hears the tent flap move and two sets of footsteps enter. 

 

"We need to figure out how to kill the snake," she says, not turning to look at them. Gesturing to the side, she adds to Narcissa, "You can sleep in Harry's - " She swallows. "In the bottom bunk. Under mine." Her voice cracks slightly.

 

"Hermione..." Ron says softly.

 

Hermione turns to face them. "We should be safe here for tonight. We can figure out where to go later. I'll go...I'll go set up the wards." Ron opens his mouth to speak, but Hermione ducks her head and strides back out of the tent before he can say anything. As she passes them, she glances at Narcissa and catches something like sympathy in her eyes. She ducks her head and walks faster.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione avoids Ron and Narcissa for the next couple of hours, wandering the borders of their camp, eyes peeled for Death Eaters. Every rustle and movement makes her stop dead, heart pounding so loud she's sure it could be heard through the wards she set. She tries to think of what to do next. The Order is in shambles. How many people are left? Her breath hitches, but she forces herself  to think the problem over logically. Last she saw they still had Kingsley, McGonagall, the Weasleys - _all except for Fred_ , and she covers her mouth to stifle a sob. Several deep breaths. In. Out. Calm down. Think logically. Ron needs her to think logically. She needs _herself_ to think logically.

 

The Order and the DA will need to pool their resources, present a stronger, more united offense. They'll need a base of operations and a way to communicate.

 

_But where can we go?_ Grimmauld Place is out. The Burrow too. Perhaps they could go to Bill and Fleur's cottage. Maybe Narcissa knows of a place they can go. _Can we trust her?_ Hermione wonders briefly. But Narcissa's survival also depends on not being found. Hermione's mind drifts, wondering if her parents' home is still empty and whether the Death Eaters will be watching it.

 

The sky begins to lighten on the horizon when Hermione heads back to the tent. Ron sits where she last saw him, on a log by the fire, staring into the flames.  He doesn't stir when she passes, only moving his eyes to watch her. The fire light reflects off the wet tear tracks on his face.

 

Hermione looks away and ducks into the tent. Guilt floods her. Ron is her best friend. She should say something, do something, offer him some comfort - but Hermione finds she has no words of comfort to give, only action. Words won't make what has happened any better, but actions might bring a sense of purpose.

 

The tent is dimly lit by a lantern in the center of the table. Glancing to the right, she sees Narcissa laying in bed - Harry's bed - on her side facing away from them. For a moment she thinks Narcissa is asleep. But no, her body is a little too tense for that. It seems none of them are getting any sleep this night. Hermione lets her pretend, uninterested in talking to anyone, let alone a woman who was their enemy up until a few hours ago. A woman who watched and did nothing as she was tortured.

 

Scrounging up some scraps of parchment and a quill, she throws herself down at the table and begins coming up with a list of places to go, of possible ways to communicate with their allies,  of information they need to know. It leaves her with far too many questions and not nearly enough answers, but something about the act of putting her thoughts on paper centers her.

 

Sometime later, she rubs her eyes and glances up when Narcissa rolls over to face her. Her eyes reflect the dim light of the lantern.

 

"Hey," Hermione says because she feels like she should say something. And then, because that feels inadequate, she adds, "Can't sleep?" She cringes. "Sorry. That was stupid."

 

To Hermione's relief, Narcissa ignores her comment. She sits up. "What are you working on?"

 

"Lists. Plans," Hermione says. "We can't stay in one place, and if we have any hope of winning, we need to pull some kind of organized resistance together. Which means we need a base, but the Death Eaters suspect all the places I can think of - what?"

 

Narcissa stares at her in disbelief. " _Win_? You still think you can defeat the Dark Lord? Potter was your only hope, and he's dead now - "

 

"Shut up," Hermione growls. Everything in her bristles at the cold, matter of fact way Narcissa says Harry's dead, as if it's no different than saying 'water is wet', as if the world hasn't just ground to a halt, her whole future burned to ash right in front of her, nearly everyone she ever cared about gone - as if she hadn't failed her best friend, as if she isn't the reason he's dead, as if she hasn't failed the whole Wizarding World -

 

Breathing heavily and blinking back tears, Hermione notices Narcissa watching her. Considering her. Sympathetically, as if she has any understanding of the thoughts going through Hermione's head, she stands and says softly, "Why don't I make us all some tea, and you can tell me about these plans."

 

Narcissa finds a tea kettle and three mugs and exits the tent. Hermione can’t remember when they had gotten more tea. Or had they simply forgotten about it? Turning back to her papers, Hermione tries to tune out the soft murmuring of voices from outside. She can't hear what Narcissa and Ron are saying to each other, but it doesn't matter because they fall silent a moment later.

 

When Narcissa returns, she places a mug in front of Hermione and sits down at the table across from her. "Show me what you have."

 

"It's nothing," Hermione grumbles, reluctantly pushing the parchment across the table. "I have no idea what we're going to do now, but I can't just sit around and do nothing. We have to get at that snake. It's the last Horcrux - "

 

Narcissa starts, tea sloshing over the sides. She hisses and sets the mug down hastily, casts a glance about for something to wipe her hands on and then resigns herself to using her robes. "Why don't we start there. _Horcrux_?" 

 

"Yes," Hermione says irritably. It's not Narcissa's fault she doesn't know, but having to bring her up to speed takes time away from what they should be doing which is figuring out how to move forward. "There were seven of them - we destroyed the rest but now we have to kill the snake before Who-Know-You makes more."

 

"Seven," Narcissa repeated weakly.

 

"One now," Hermione says urgently, "but not for long."

 

Narcissa swallows, visibly pulling herself together. "The Dark Lord may not make others. Clearly, they are too risky if you almost destroyed them all. He may turn his sights on other ways of gaining immortality." She frowns and takes a sip of her tea. "He'll certainly never let that horrible snake out of his sight."

 

"We'll have to force it out of his sight then. Or distract him long enough - "

 

Narcissa shakes her head. "It's not that simple."

 

"Of course it won't be simple," Hermione snaps, her voice rising. "But I'm not just going to give up! I refuse to just stand by and watch as - " She cuts herself off, jumps to her feet and starts pacing. She stops abruptly and glares at Narcissa. "How can you just accept this?"

 

"Because I knew betraying the Dark Lord sealed my fate," Narcissa says simply. "You have merely delayed my death not prevented it."

 

"You could have lied." Hermione frowns, curious now. "Bellatrix said you were tricked. Why didn't you play along?"

 

"The Dark Lord would never have believed Potter could trick me into thinking he was dead," Narcissa says. "My sister made a valiant attempt at saving me, but lying would only have increased the Dark Lord's anger."

 

Hermione raises her eyebrows in disbelief. "'Valiant attempt'? She just stood there. You-Know-Who was about to kill you, and she did nothing."

 

Narcissa lowers her eyes to the mug of tea in her hands. Tracing the brim with the tip of her finger, she says calmly, "Bellatrix did all she could. All I could have ever asked her to do. She could not save me. But she could save Draco." She raises her eyes to meet Hermione's. "But it meant she had to let me go."

 

Hermione lowers her eyes. "If she had tried to save you, You-Know-Who would have killed Malfoy - Draco, I mean."

 

Narcissa nods grimly. "Precisely. Draco's safety is more important to me than anything. Bellatrix knows that."

 

"Is that why Mr Malfoy didn't try to help either?"

 

Shoulders drooping, a lifeless look in Narcissa's eyes, she says, "I don't know. I don't...I don't think so, no."

 

A moment passes in silence.

 

"I'm sorry," Hermione says softly.

 

"Why did you save me?"

 

Hermione blinks. "What?"

 

Narcissa leans forward, watching Hermione. "Why did you save me?"

 

"I couldn't watch and do nothing." Hermione averts her gaze. "Besides, you saved Harry. I repaid his debt. Even if he...well, _because_ he couldn’t... You helped him when you didn’t have to, and I couldn’t..."

 

Such a simple question, but the emotions are all too close to the surface, and a lump forms in her throat. “It was the right thing to do.” Birds begin to chirp among the trees. Hermione downs her tea and stands abruptly. "We should start packing up. We have to keep moving."

 

Narcissa hesitates then nods. "Yes. I doubt the Snatchers are intelligent enough to remember where this place is, but Bellatrix or the Dark Lord could easily extract it from their memories."

 

Hermione frowns. "Bellatrix tried to save you. Why would she lead the Death Eaters here?"

 

Narcissa looks at her sadly. "Because my sister may have tried to cover for me, but her loyalty is to the Dark Lord. Should her loyalty to family and her loyal to the Dark Lord conflict again...I fear she won't choose me."

 

Narcissa exits the tent without another word, and once again Hermione finds she has nothing to say.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days pass uneventfully. Each morning they pack up camp and Apparate to a new location. Hermione struggles to think of places to go, of how to communicate with the others, of where to go for information. The problem, Narcissa points out, is that the Death Eaters will be actively looking for them.

 

"The Death Eaters have several old hideouts," Narcissa explains one night. "Most haven't been used in decades. However - "

 

"They'll be keeping an eye on them now in case you turn up," Hermione says with a heavy sigh.

 

"Precisely. Every property belonging to the Malfoy family Lucius knows about, and every Black property - "

 

"Bellatrix knows about," Ron says, subdued. "We're back where we started."

 

"The Death Eaters won't watch those properties forever," Narcissa points out. "Perhaps in a few months, they will no longer be watching them."

 

"But they could be," Ron says.

 

"Yes. But no place is without risk."

 

"Do you know how to cast a Fidelius Charm?" Hermione asks. 

 

Narcissa shakes her head. "Even if I did, I fear it's beyond my skills. It's an incredibly complex piece of magic, which is why it is so rarely used."

 

"So we'll just wait around for your Death Eater pals to find us," Ron drawls.

 

Narcissa does not respond, though she visibly bristles. 

 

Ron glances at Hermione, who drops her gaze. They've barely spoken the past few days. Hermione pours all her effort and concentration into the problems they have to solve. She pulls a Galleon out of her pocket and turns it over.

 

"We could use the coins to communicate with the others," she says, changing the subject. Perhaps they can make more progress on this issue. "We'd need to come up with a meeting place for it work. Or maybe..." Furrowing her brow, she says slowly, "Maybe there's a way to encode a meeting place too..."

 

"At least some of the DA still have their coins," Ron says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Neville, Luna, Ginny..."

 

Turning to Narcissa, Hermione asks, "How do the Dark Marks work?"

 

Narcissa blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

 

Hermione holds up the fake Galleon. It gleams in the firelight. "In fifth year, we used these Galleons to avoid Umbridge - I got the idea from the Dark Marks, but obviously those are more complicated - these Galleons only show a date and a time, and only - " She swallows, fights against the way her throat closes up. " - only Harry could change them. But You-Know-Who can send and receive messages through the Dark Marks. It's how the Death Eaters call him.  Do you know how they work? Can he send specific messages to specific Death Eaters or only general ones? When a message is sent to him does everyone know about it or only him? How are the messages relayed, how detailed are they - "

 

"I don't know the specifics of the magic involved," Narcissa interrupts, "and it was never a subject I wished to discuss too closely with Lucius. However..." She hesitates. "May I see that?" She holds out a hand.

 

Hermione pauses then places the coin in Narcissa's palm, her fingers brushing against Narcissa's when she pulls her hand away. Narcissa studies the coin closely.

 

"Fascinating..." she murmurs. "You made these in your fifth year?" 

 

Narcissa looks at her with wonder, and Hermione feels a warmth in her chest. She's used to praise, but something feels different - special - about this, about the way a woman who was their enemy only days ago gazes at her with respect and a hint of awe. Her blue eyes are brighter than they have been the past three days, a hint of a spark in them, and the flickering glow of the fire softens her features, makes her blonde hair gleam.

 

Ron clears his throat, breaking the moment. "Hermione can do anything - "

 

_ Except the one thing that would have saved Harry's life, _ hisses a voice in the back of Hermione's head.

 

" - but where would we meet them?" 

 

Narcissa's expression turns thoughtful. "First, we would have to alter the charm into displaying a location. Second, we would have to find a way to ensure that the altered charm affected all the other Galleons. After that we would need to find a temporary meeting place. We wouldn't want to give away the location of a hiding spot should one of the Galleons have fallen into a Death Eaters hands or one of your friends betrays you."

 

"Our friends would never betray us!" Ron protests, his face turning red. 

 

But Hermione remembers all the members of the DA, not all of them friends. Resisting Umbridge is far different from resisting Voldemort -  _ and some of them couldn't even manage that, _ she thinks bitterly.

 

Narcissa shoots Ron a sharp look and opens her mouth to retort when Hermione jumps to her feet. Both of them look at her startled.

 

She can't do this right now. She can't listen to them bicker about who may or may not betray them and what that would mean. _ They wouldn't even need to betray you. Just fail you, _ hisses the nasty voice in her head.

 

"I'm going to go check the wards and - " She racks her brain to think of something to say that isn't  _ get away from you _ or _ try to drown out my thoughts _ . 

 

Ron looks up at her, dejected. Narcissa gazes at her thoughtfully. After a moment, she says, "We need supplies. Food, clothing. Perhaps you know of a place we would find those things? Preferably where we would not be recognized."

 

"I'll think about it," Hermione says, and hurries to the edge of the camp, feeling uncomfortably like Narcissa knows more about what's going on in her head than she would like.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione Apparates them half a mile from a muggle town she and her parents used to visit on their camping trips when she was younger. She doesn't have any muggle money on her, but she turns a Galleon over in her fingers thoughtfully. There was an old pawn shop and a jewelry store that would buy gold. She would never have dreamed of selling a Galleon to a muggle before - she was sure it wasn’t legal - but it’s only a matter of time before Voldemort disregards the Statute of Secrecy all together, she figures, and she can't see his regime caring about a Galleon or two sold to a muggle.   
  
"How much genuine gold is in these?" Hermione asks.   
  
Narcissa and Ron shoot each other a confused look. Both of them are silent, waiting for the other to speak. Curious, Hermione thinks. She had expected Narcissa to answer immediately, but Narcissa is reserved today, seeming content to let Ron speak.   
  
Finally Ron says, "Dunno, most of it, I think. Why?"   
  
"We need money," Hermione says.    
  
"Uh...that  _ is _ money."   
  
"No, muggle money."   
  
"Those weird bits of paper?"   
  
"Yes." Hermione slips the Galleon back into her pocket.    
  
They stop at the edge of the town. Hermione's eyes roam over the buildings, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. She remembers a small but busy town near several popular camping spots and hiking trails, well kept shops, people constantly passing through in the spring and summer months. Now the buildings look run down, some appearing empty. The inside of a sporting goods store is dark, with a 'closed' sign hanging off a broken chain on the inside of the glass door. There aren't any people on the street. Only a few cars, some of which don't look like they have been moved in months.   
  
"Ron," Hermione whispers, "keep your hand on your wand. I don't like this."   
  
Ron nods with grim determination, his hand slipping into his pocket.    
  
"And what should I do?" Narcissa hisses under her breath. "I don't have a wand. I gave it to Draco after you stole his."   
  
"Just stay behind us and get out of the way if anything happens," Hermione says. She doesn't have a better plan. They'll have to get Narcissa a wand soon, but that is another problem entirely. As is the question of whether she trusts Narcissa with one.   
  
Narcissa frowns and wrinkles her nose at that, but she doesn't argue - how she would argue, Hermione doesn't know, but she's grateful all the same as she returns her full focus to the town, leading them through the empty streets toward where she remembers the pawn shop being. It doesn't take them long to get there, and for a moment, Hermione's heart sinks, thinking it abandoned. But then a dim neon sign flickers 'open' before dying again, perhaps for good this time, and there's movement inside.    
  
A bell rings when they enter. Ron and Narcissa linger by the door, looking around at the odd assortment of muggle items, from an antique doll to an assortment of jewelry locked in display cases to guitars hanging from the walls. Hermione ventures further into the shop toward the counter. A man appears from the back room, watching her warily. His appearance is haggard. He hasn't shaved in days, his hair is unkempt in a way that reminds her painfully of Harry's untameable hair, and there's bags under his eyes. His clothes are stained, badly wrinkled, and don't fit him right as though he’s lost weight.   
  
"What do you want?" he asks gruffly.   
  
Hermione pulls out two Galleons. "I want to sell these." She places it down on the counter. The man picks it up, scrutinizing it, and Hermione continues, "They're gold. I don't know how much exactly."   
  
"Well, I can test that, no worries, you'll just haff ter give me a minute - "    
  
Behind her, she hears Narcissa and Ron whispering.   
  
"What do you reckon this is?"    
  
"I do not know nor do I care. Go ask Hermione."   
  
Hermione glances over her shoulder. They're staring at TV and a VCR player. Ron pokes at it curiously, pressing buttons, unaware it isn't plugged in. Narcissa curls her lip at it, though she's leaning forward, listening to whatever Ron is saying. Hermione catches him muttering "Dad would go mental if he were here, look at all this muggle stuff, just loads of it - " She rolls her eyes, though the corner of her lip quirks upward despite herself, and turns back to the shop owner. Her smile disappears instantly.   
  
He stares at Ron and Narcissa with wide eyes, face pale. He puts the Galleon back on the counter. "Whatever this is, I don't want it."    
  
Narcissa and Ron stop whispering.    
  
Hermione frowns. "Why? What's wrong with it?"   
  
"I know your kind," he says, and as he speaks, Hermione feels the unease and dread coiling tighter in her stomach. "Came through months ago, looking for some kid. Running from the law, they said. Some kind of terrorist or something, I don't know, I didn't buy it. But they wore clothes like hers." He pokes at Narcissa who is still wearing robes, though they're starting to look the worse for wear after days in the forest. "Had these sticks too, but they weren't..." He shudders.    
  
_ Death Eaters, _ Hermione thinks.  _ They tortured these people. Looking for us. But how did they know...? _ Hermione never kept their family camping trips a secret, but she can’t remember mentioning them to anyone other than Harry and the Weasleys. How did the Death Eaters know about them? 

Or, she thinks with a sinking feeling, did they visit this town at random, suspecting they may have disappeared into the muggle world? How many other muggle towns did the Death Eaters search? It strikes Hermione then that she has no idea what affect the war is having on the muggle world, how far it reaches, how badly the Statue of Secrecy is damaged already.   
  
"What happened?" Hermione asks, her voice barely more than a frightened whisper. "What did they do to this place? I used to come here with my family."   
  
"Everything got real cold. Happened when they came. At first we thought it was just them, ya know? But it didn't leave. Stayed cold. Real cold. Sucked the happiness right outta everyone.” The man shuddered, his eyes unfocused. "People stopped coming. Most people left - anyone who had anywhere else to go. Rest of us who didn't sorta stuck around. What else were we s’pposed to do? After a while, the cold left, and people started feeling better, but the damage is already done." His gaze refocused on Hermione. "Thought maybe we were shot of you people, but between you and the women yesterday - "   
  
"Yesterday?" Narcissa asks.   
  
The man looks at her warily. "Yeah. Tall woman, black hair, bad attitude." He narrows his eyes at Narcissa. "Kinda looked like you. Had a short blonde woman with her. Even worse attitude, if you can believe it."   
  
Hermione glances at Narcissa, whose demeanor has closed off entirely. Not that she had been particularly open before, Hermione thinks, but what little progress had been accomplished is undone.   
  
"Bellatrix?" Hermione asks hesitantly.   
  
"Yes, and it sounds like Alecto Carrow is with her."   
  
"What was she doing here?" Hermione asks, turning back to the pawnshop owner.   
  
"Said she was looking for her sister," he says. "But I hadn't seen her." He gives Narcissa a considering look, and adds carefully, "Still haven't seen her."    
  
Narcissa nods respectfully. "Thank you."   
  
"Haven't seen either of you two neither," the man says, pointing his pinkie and his index fingers at Ron and Hermione. Then, tapping his foot nervously, he says, "Gimme the coins." He holds out a hand and waves his fingers rapidly until Hermione hurriedly drops them into his grasp. He punches something into the cash register, and it opens with ding.   
  
"I dunno what you're all up to, and I don't wanna know. Don't really wanna know what's going on either, something makes me think it's better if I don't. But I do know those people are bad news." He grabs a few bills out of the cash register, slams it closed and disappears into the back. He returns with a bundle of cash bound together. "Take this."   
  
Hermione balks at the amount. "But you never determined how much it was worth, this has to be way too much - "   
  
"Don't need to test it," the man says. "Honestly, got a bad feeling this is all going sideways so don't think it's gonna matter too much longer anyway. But I'm figuring if they're looking for you, you're probably causing them some trouble." He smirks. "Consider the extra a donation to your efforts."

  
Hermione blinks. "Thank you."   
  
The man nods. “You'd best get going before those women come round again. Hate to think what they’d do if they caught ya.”


	6. Chapter 6

They leave the pawn shop and stop outside. They have money; now they need food, a new bag for Hermione to charm - some new clothes too, she thinks, glancing at Narcissa's robes and then down at her and Ron's tattered jeans and shoes. They have more information than they did before, but still more questions than answers.

 

“Where next?” Ron asks.

 

Hermione wishes, irritably, that Ron would come up with their plans every once and while instead of leaving her to do all the work, be the one to have all the answers.

 

“I believe new clothes are in order,” Narcissa says, and Hermione is grateful that someone else has a plan. The feeling vanishes immediately when Narcissa continues speaking. “That muggle is smarter than the rest of his kind, but we can't count on every muggle we meet being the same.”

 

Hermione bristles. “He's a better person than most purebloods I’ve met.” She pauses a second before adding, “Including you.”

 

Narcissa raises an eyebrow. Hermione glares ahead and starts walking before she can respond. It was a petty thing to say perhaps, but Hermione has had enough of pureblood prejudice to last her a lifetime. Remembering Narcissa watch her be tortured, Hermione finds that she can't regret what she said.

 

 _Where does she even get off?_  Hermione fumes, storming down the street back toward the closed sporting goods store. _That man helped us, and she can't even be grateful without -_

 

She stops in front of the store, arms crossed tight, foot tapping impatiently. She can't remember where else in town she could find a bag. She thinks there was a little clothes shop somewhere, but they’ll need more durable boots than what she remembers the shop having - assuming it's even open.

 

Narcissa and Ron catch up to her and watch her in silence for a moment. Then Narcissa asks, “Are we going in?”

 

“It's closed,” Hermione snaps. Ron and Narcissa share a look. “We’ll have to see if we can find someone who'll let us in - ”

 

“Or,” Ron says slowly, “we could just...go in.” He points his wand at the door. “ _Alohomora._ ”

 

The door creaks open.

 

"Ron," Hermione hisses, "you can't just go breaking into - "

 

Ron sighs exasperatedly. "We broke into Gringotts, Hermione, and _this_ is where you draw the line?"

 

"We had to in order to get a Horcrux!" Hermione says, following him inside the store. "And we weren't stealing from someone's livelihood! This is completely unethical - "

 

"Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for months," Ron counters, and he isn't wrong: the store is completely still and dark with a layer of dust over everything. Several display racks lay tipped over, their contents spilled across the floor. Clearly whoever had locked up had not cleaned before leaving, and judging by the footprints in the dust, they aren’t the first to break in.

 

"Was it even locked at all?" Narcissa asks, sneering down at the dust stirred up as they walk, wrinkling her nose at the way it clings to her shoes and the hem of her robes.

 

"I don't know. I didn't try it." Hermione glares at both of them. The idea of stealing from a store doesn't sit well with her, but it's hard to argue when the owner clearly did not care enough to secure it.

 

 _Too busy running from the Death Eaters and the Dementors, probably._ She huffs. "Fine. But we take only what we need."

 

Narcissa sniffs. "As if I'm keen on hoarding muggle trash."

 

Hermione glares at her, and Narcissa raises an eyebrow challengingly. Deciding not to fight that battle now, she strides further into the store, taking care to kick up as much dust as possible.

 

She leaves Ron and Narcissa to look at clothing while she goes over the rucksacks and bags. They're all bulky and obvious, nowhere as easy to conceal as her drawstring purse had been. _But_ _if we get caught again our bags will be the least of our worries_ , she thinks with a frown.

 

She grabs a simple backpack, one of the smaller ones - she'll charm it anyway - and wanders over to the shoes, scanning the selection. It's all hiking boots, but she finds a pair in her size and tries them on. Satisfied, she tucks her old trainers in the bag, resolving to throw them away at the first opportunity, and wanders through the store in search of Ron and Narcissa, letting her eyes roam over the shelves and displays in case anything jumps out to her that she might have forgotten.

 

“No way muggles run around wearing these,” she hears Ron say, and she follows his voice. He’s gesturing at something with one hand. “They’re ridiculous. They’d freeze!”

 

Narcissa’s expression is neutral, her eyes lingering on whatever it is. Hermione winds her way through the clothing racks until she sees what they’re looking at: a poster of an attractive woman wearing a sports bra and tight pants jogging down a street.

 

Ron turns to her bewildered. In one hand, he holds a sports bra he took off the rack. “Muggle women wear these? How do they stay warm?”

 

“Ron,” Hermione says, struggling not to laugh. “That’s a sports bra.”

 

“A sports - what?”

 

“A sports bra. It’s a _bra._ ”

 

Ron drops it as though burned, his whole face turning bright red. “I didn’t - I’ve never seen one like that before, I didn’t - ”

 

“I’m amazed you've seen any,” Narcissa quips. “What poor unfortunate girl allowed that?”

 

“I - well, sometimes I help mum with the wash and - and Hermione- ”

 

Hermione's face feels like it's on fire. Narcissa is far too amused for her liking.

 

“We’ve been on the run for a year,” she says defensively. “Sharing a tent, washing clothes together - get your mind out of the gutter.”

 

“If you insist.” Narcissa smirks.

 

Hermione wants to wipe the look off of Narcissa’s face. She scans the clothes available and then turns to Narcissa. None of them are a style Narcissa would approve of, she's sure, not from her attitude. But even worse is...

 

“None of these clothes will fit you,” Hermione says. “You're too big - er, tall, I mean.” She falters under Narcissa’s glare. Holding up a few shirts against Narcissa, she tugs at the sleeves falling too short and the hems not quite reaching her waist.

 

Placing the shirts back on the racks, she smirks at Narcissa. “We’ll have to try the mens section.”

 

All amusement vanishes from Narcissa's face. “No.”

 

“Do you know how to magically alter clothes?” Hermione challenges. Narcissa glares. “Right. So. Mens section. But first...” She grabs a few sports bras of varying sizes. “We’ll need some of these.” Grinning, she presses them into Ron’s arms. “Would you hold these for us?”

 

“Wait, what, Hermione, come on - ”

 

Hermione turns back to Narcissa, noticing that her eyes have moved back to the poster, trailing over it with a strange interest. Narcissa’s lips part slightly as though to speak, and she leans sideways away from them, her shoulders twisting a bit like she’s going to whisper in someone’s ear. Disappointment flashes across her face when she realizes there is no one there. Her eyes move back to the poster.

 

“Muggle women really only wear them without shirts when they're exercising,” Hermione says, not sure why. “It's not typical fashion.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes snap back to Hermione, a flash of...something in her eyes. Guilt? Fear? Something else entirely?

 

“I’m not interested in muggle fashion,” she says cooly. She pointedly looks away from the poster.

 

“Oh,” Hermione says. “Is it that the pictures don't move? You’ll get used to that.”

 

Narcissa doesn't reply to that.

 

Hermione sighs. “Come on, let's go see if we can find you something.”

 

They split up. Hermione decides to be merciful and take back the bras as Ron goes in search of his own clothing. She picks out a few different shirts and pants for Narcissa to try, ignoring Narcissa’s grumbling.

 

“Beggars can't be choosers,” Hermione reminds her as they head to the changing rooms. Narcissa's expression goes curiously blank. She takes the clothes from Hermione without another word and disappears into a changing room.

 

As intended, Narcissa hates every second of trying on the clothes. Hermione listens with a smirk as Narcissa grumbles to herself inside her changing room. Satisfied with her own selection, she keeps on the black button down shirt and jeans she had grabbed - choosing them specifically to contrast the clothing she gave Narcissa - and stuffed the rest of the shirts and pants into the bag. She charmed it quickly to fit everything, and then stepped out of the stall.

 

“How are you doing?” Hermione asks, amused.

 

Narcissa opens the door, glaring at her. The effect is undercut by the too big flannel button down shirt and ill fitting jeans. “This is ridiculous.”

 

Hermione giggles. “You look like a lumberjack.”

 

“A what?”

 

“It's not important,” she manages through her laughter.

 

Narcissa rolls her eyes and starts trying to roll up the sleeves of her shirt. “I can't believe this is what my life has come to.” She sloppily rolls up one sleeve up and moves to the other, her slim fingers struggling slightly with what Hermione suspects are unfamiliar movements. Would Narcissa ever have had to roll up sleeves before? Hermione can't imagine Narcissa’s clothing ever being anything but perfectly tailored.

 

“Honestly, if Bella finds me like this, I hope she ends it quickly, it’d be a mercy not to have to hear her go on about it - ”

 

There's an adorable pout on her face, and Hermione's laughter dies. Narcissa looks...cute. _It isn't fair,_ Hermione thinks, as her breathing becomes shallower. _She's not supposed to look so good._

 

Frustrated, Narcissa growls at the other cuff.

 

“Hold on,” Hermione says, with a hint of a smile, though her heart's beating faster for some reason. “Let me...”

 

She puts both cuffs back the way they were and rolls them up neatly, her fingers brushing the backs of Narcissa's hands, her delicate wrists, the beginning of her forearm. She does the same with the left, but this time her fingers graze the diamonds on Narcissa's wedding ring, and a strange feeling settles in her chest.

 

“There,” she says, stepping back. The cuffs are rolled up just above Narcissa’s wrists. The jeans are the right length, if a bit baggy, and hang low on her hips. A pair of beige hiking boots completes the look, and Hermione giggles again at the sight of Narcissa Malfoy in such ill fitting muggle apparel.

 

Ron chooses that moment to appear wearing a similar outfit, and Hermione clamps a hand over her mouth.

 

At Narcissa's glare, Hermione gasps between giggles, “Don't worry! I’ll write your names on the tags so you don't - so you don't get - your clothes mixed up.”

 

“I fail to see the humor in this,” Narcissa grouses.

 

“Really? Too bad.” Hermione glances at Ron expecting back up, but he's looking between her and Narcissa with a dark expression on his face. “Ron?”

 

“Nothing,” Ron says, “just good to see you two getting along _so well_ together.”

 

Hermione's good mood evaporates in an instant. “Well excuse me, _Ronald._ Have your clothes? Good. Let's go.” She snatches up both Ron and Narcissa's extra clothes and stuffs them in the bag. After a second, she grabs the robes, unwilling to leave behind such obvious evidence they were here. She throws the bag on her back and storms toward the door, taking care to hit Ron with her shoulder as she passes.


	7. Chapter 7

The motel has clearly seen better days, but it’s open and - Hermione thinks - will be better than a night in the tent. A few of the rooms have lights on, visible through the cracks in tightly drawn curtains or around boarded up windows. There’s a few cars parked in front of rooms, some more worn down than others. Hermione wonders how many are visitors passing through, and how many are people gathered together for a sense of safety.

 

The young man at the front desk eyes them, mistrustful. He can’t be much older than Hermione, but he sizes them up like he’s at war. Which, she realizes, he is. They all are, even if some people still don’t know it. She wonders how often she’s looked at other people the way he’s looking at her now. 

 

“We’d like, um, two rooms, please,” Hermione says, pausing only a moment to think of what would be least suspicious. 

 

“Got any ID?” the man asks skeptically, his eyes sweeping over their group.

 

Hermione hesitates. “Why do you need ID?”

 

“Can’t rent to anyone under eighteen.”

 

Narcissa steps up beside Hermione. “Honestly, clearly I’m of age, just put the room in my name.”

 

“Still need to see some ID,” the young man says, and his gaze has turned harder and sharper. “Not too much to ask, is it?” He’s sizing them up as if he knows what they are. Perhaps it's the ill fitting clothes, or something else, but he’s on edge now, muscles tensing.

 

Hermione nearly jumps when she feels Narcissa step up close behind her and a delicate hand slides under the hem of her shirt and up the skin of her back, lifting her shirt halfway up her back as Narcissa does. She wants to demand what Narcissa is doing but she can’t think of a way to address it without alarming the young man more. Hermione feels the tip of her wand pop free from under her shirt, and Narcissa runs her palm back down Hermione’s back. Hermione bites her lip to stop from squeaking in shock when Narcissa’s hand slides into her back pocket, cupping her ass. Her wand is in between Narcissa’s hand and Hermione, breaking the contact in places, but Hermione feels slim fingers brushing against her skin, the thin fabric of the pocket not much of a barrier and doing nothing to block out Narcissa's warmth. Narcissa’s fingers curl, squeezing her ass, and Hermione can’t stop the way she jumps and squeaks. It’s a second before she realizes that Narcissa’s hand is pulling back out of her pocket - and taking her wand with it. 

 

Hermione snatches her wand back with a cry of protest, but the man’s eyes are already unfocusing, and he says, “Two rooms, right, that’ll be one hundred and sixty pounds for the night. Here’s your keys. Rooms nine and ten.”

 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione pays for the rooms and takes the keys, trying to act normal so as not to make the situation worse. Once everything is settled and the man bids them a good day, his eyes still glazed, Hermione grabs Narcissa by her elbow and marches her outside. Ron hurries after them.

 

“What was that?” Hermione hisses, hauling Narcissa out of view of the glass doors and spinning her around to face her. “You can’t just go around attacking muggles - ”

 

“I did not  _ attack _ him,” Narcissa drawls, looking bored and impatient. “I merely cast a minor memory charm so that he would think we had already showed him whatever muggle ID he was looking for.”

 

“You snatched my wand!” Hermione glances around, lowering her voice further. “How are we supposed to trust you if you go around snatching our wands?”

 

Ron moves to stand beside her, his hand clenched tight around his wand. “I know you paid for two, but we should stay together. We can take turns keeping an eye on her.” He gives Narcissa a dark look.

 

“ _ Honestly _ ,” Narcissa huffs. “This is not a conversation to be had here. Secondly, if I had planned to do something nefarious, I would have taken  _ both _ your wands already, and I would not have given either of them back.”

 

“You didn’t give it back, I  _ took _ it back!”

 

“And I  _ let _ you,” Narcissa says pointedly. 

 

Hermione glares at her but finds she can’t argue. Narcissa did let her take it back more easily than she would have expected. She sighs. “Fine. But don't it again.” She storms toward the rooms. Ron chases after her at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Narcissa following along at a more sedate pace.

 

Hermione presses the key to room ten into Ron’s hands. “Here, this’ll be your room. Narcissa and I will be right next door.”

 

“Wait,” Ron says, reaching for Hermione’s arm. Hermione pulls away before he can touch her, and his expression darkens. “She just stole your wand, and you  _ still _ want to room with her and not me? What if she steals your wand and runs off back to You-Know-Who?”

 

“Then we can’t leave her rooming by herself, can we?” Hermione shoots back.

 

“I never said we do that! I said we could all room together, I could take the floor or we could conjure another mattress or something - ”

 

“It’ll be fine, Ron, don’t worry about it - ” She stops when Ron’s face turns red as his hair. 

 

“So you’d rather spend time with a Death Eater than with me? You’d rather talk to her, trust  _ her _ ? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding me!”

 

Narcissa steps forward and hisses, “This is not the time for a tantrum, Mr Weasley. Contain yourself until we are inside, won’t you?”

 

“Shut up,” Ron snaps. He turns his heated glare back on Hermione who flinches. “You’ve barely looked at me since we left Hogwarts. I thought you just needed - needed a little time or something but - do you even care? You haven’t - you haven’t done anything, I thought maybe it was shock or - or - I don’t know, but you’re all chummy with Death Eaters now and you won’t even talk to me and you haven’t even  _ mentioned _ \- ” Ron pauses half a second, visibly struggling with himself and then bursts out, “Do you even care that Harry’s dead?”

 

Silence stretches between them for what feels like an eternity but which can only be seconds. Narcissa inhales sharply behind her. Ron’s eyes widen, and he recoils in shock and horror. Hermione feels like she's been physically struck.

 

“I’m, I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t mean - ”

 

“Leave,” Hermione says, anger boiling inside her until her voice becomes a snarl. “Just go, Ron, it’s what your good at, isn’t it? After all the times you stopped talking to Harry over petty jealousy, you  _ dare _ accuse  _ me _ of being the one who doesn’t - I’ve lost everything, you can go and pretend and live some sort of life, maybe not the best one, but - but you can have  _ something _ and what do I have? My parents are gone, my future is gone, everything I’ve ever wanted, ever worked for up in flames, my best friend is  _ dead _ and - ” She swallows, her anger extinguished in an instant.

 

Feeling strangely numb, Hermione turns to the door of her motel room and tries to unlock it, but her fingers shake too badly to get the key into the lock.

 

“Hermione?” Ron says meekly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...I...”

 

Slim fingers rest over Hermione’s, stopping her fumbling attempts to unlock the door. The key is gently pried from her fingers. Narcissa unlocks the room, pushes open the door and rests a hand on the small of Hermione’s back, guiding her forward.

 

Stepping into the room, Hermione glances back at her. Narcissa is frowning at Ron.

 

“I think, Mr Weasley, we need to talk,” Narcissa says. She plucks the key to room ten from Ron’s hands, opens it and points for him to enter. He does so, head hanging. They disappear inside, leaving Hermione alone.

 

She closes the door, walks over to the bed and sits down, staring blankly at the wall. She doesn’t know how to feel. Isn’t sure she can anymore. Everything feels all too much and not enough, not like it should. She props her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands, struggling not to fall apart.

 

Hermione isn’t sure how much time has passed when the door opens again. Not bothering to look up, it occurs to her that whoever entered the room could be anyone. Did she even lock the door? She isn’t sure. Perhaps Death Eaters have found them. Bellatrix and Alecto, perhaps? She can only hope they are quick to put her out of her misery.

 

She doesn’t move. Perhaps it should concern her how little she cares.

 

The door closes quietly and footsteps cross the room. The bed dips beside her. An arm wraps around her shoulders and pulls her against a tall, thin, soft body.

 

“Mr Weasley won’t be making any more insensitive commentary from now on,” Narcissa murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down Hermione’s arm.

 

Hermione rests her head against Narcissa’s shoulder, eyes closing against the tears pricking at them.

 

“He wants to talk to you,” Narcissa says, her voice quiet and soothing, “but I convinced him to wait until the morning.”

 

“Thank you,” Hermione whispers brokenly. It occurs to her, distantly, how strange it is that she finds more comfort in Narcissa’s presence - the wife of a Death Eater, a proponent of the very ideology that has brought Hermione to this place, her whole life in ruins and her closest friend dead - than in Ron’s. But how can she look Ron in the eye? There is too much there, too many feelings, too much shame.

 

Narcissa doesn’t say anything after that, only continues to rub her arm and let Hermione rest in peace and quiet. It’s this, maybe, that breaks Hermione more than anything, that causes the words she’s held back to tumble out.

 

“It’s my fault,” Hermione whispers. “I should have killed the snake. I was supposed to destroy the last Horcrux, and I failed, and it’s all my fault.” A sob tears from her throat, and she curls in on herself. 

 

Narcissa doesn’t let go, just tugs her closer so that Hermione’s head rests on her chest. She strokes Hermione’s hair with one hand and holds her with the other. Hermione’s whole body racks with sobs, all the things she’s tried not to feel rising like a tidal wave, crashing over her, overwhelming and threatening to pull her under. She clings to Narcissa, desperate to hold onto something, anything, to keep her from drowning.

 

Narcissa holds her until Hermione has no more tears left to cry and sags against her in exhaustion. Then she lays Hermione gently down on the bed and gets up. Fear spikes through Hermione, but Narcissa moves only to the end of the bed. 

 

She tugs off Hermione’s shoes, removes her wand from her back pocket and places it on the nightstand. Then she checks the night stands, pulls out a worn paperback novel - it appears to be some generic romance novel left behind by a previous guest - frowns at it then appears to decide she won’t find anything better and settles back down beside Hermione on the bed, sitting with her back against the headrest and starts to read. Hermione rolls onto her side, back to Narcissa, embarrassment at her weakness creeping in. 

 

But then Narcissa strokes her hair in a soothing, almost absent minded rhythm, and Hermione relaxes, eyelids drooping. 

 

She falls into the first restful sleep she’s had in longer than she can remember.


	8. Chapter 8

When Hermione wakes, Narcissa is gone. A brief moment of panic fills her before she spots her wand still on the nightstand and hears the shower running. There’s a glass of water beside her wand, and Hermione drinks it greedily, her head pounding. The shower shuts off. A minute later, there’s a faint cursing from behind the bathroom door and then it opens. 

 

Hermione nearly chokes, spilling water down the front of her shirt. Narcissa wears only a thin towel wrapped tight around her body. Her blonde hair is plastered to her skin.

 

“Oh,” Narcissa says softly in surprise. “I thought you would still be sleeping. I forgot my clothes.”

 

“I can see that,” Hermione croaks. She wipes her chin and neck with her sleeve. 

 

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Narcissa rummages through Hermione’s bag and pulls out one of the oversized flannel shirts.

 

“You didn’t,” Hermione assures her, and then Narcissa ducks back into the bathroom. Hermione hastily finishes the cup of water before she can embarrass herself further.

 

It's a good thing, she thinks, as the door opens again and Narcissa exits the bathroom wearing only the button down flannel shirt. Her long legs are bare, and the sleeves of the shirt are messily rolled up around her elbows. 

 

Hermione swallows hard. Tries to keep her eyes off the expanse of skin. She hopes Narcissa is wearing underwear underneath the shirt. 

 

“You forgot your, um...”

 

Narcissa tosses a look at the windows. The curtains are drawn tight, but there's no light filtering through them.

 

“I'm going to sleep,” Narcissa says. “But you may stay up if you wish. I would not recommend wondering outside.”

 

Sleep. Sounds reasonable, Hermione thinks, until she realizes with a jolt that there is only one bed in the room. One bed. She'll have to share with Narcissa. Narcissa, who plans to sleep half naked.

 

It's fine. This is fine.

 

As Narcissa slides under the covers, Hermione realizes she’s still laying on top of the sheets. She goes to climb under them, but Narcissa stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

 

“What?” Hermione asks, pausing by the side of the bed.

 

“You plan to sleep in your jeans? That can’t be comfortable.”

 

“Done it for over a year.” Hermione frowns. “In case we’re attacked in the middle of the night.”

 

“We won’t be attacked here,” Narcissa counters with a confidence Hermione does not feel. “Bellatrix and Alecto have already passed by this town, and Weasley and I set up protection charms on both the rooms. We will be safe here tonight.”

 

“Still...”

 

Narcissa doesn’t press the issue.  She rolls over so her back is to Hermione.

 

Hermione hesitates, then grabs her bag and ducks into the bathroom. Without knowing why, she changes into one of the large shirts she got for Narcissa - a simple gray t-shirt - which falls down almost to her knees. 

 

_ This is stupid _ , she thinks, but maybe she's inherited some of Harry's recklessness. She feels challenged somehow, and she cannot let it pass. 

 

_ This is so, so stupid. _

 

She comes back out, puts her jeans and shoes within easy reach, and slips back into bed. She can't bring herself to look at Narcissa. and if Narcissa notices anything, she doesn't say. Hermione tries to keep to her side as much as she can, laying with one arm dangling over the side.

 

Narcissa falls asleep first, though her rest is fitful. She tosses and turns, twitches and whimpers. They’re soft sounds, ones Hermione would not hear if not for the dead silence of the room and their close proximity. Hermione watches the glowing numbers off the alarm clock on the nightstand tick away as she listens. After half an hour, Hermione relents and rolls over, stroking Narcissa’s arm soothingly with one hand and her hair with the other.

 

Narcissa rolls over and curls against Hermione, resting her head against her chest. Bare legs rub against Hermione’s, and she shivers slightly. Narcissa quiets then, falling into a restful sleep. Hermione holds her until she, too, falls asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

When Hermione wakes again, sometime around two in the morning according to the glowing green clock face, she finds their positions have shifted slightly. Narcissa lays curled up against her side, head resting on her shoulder, one hand loosely fisted in Hermione’s shirt, bare legs tangled together. Narcissa’s breaths are deep and even. She shifts slightly in her sleep and the smooth skin of her legs rubs against Hermione’s. 

 

Hermione’s face grows hot. Carefully, she extracts herself from Narcissa’s grasp. The room feels much colder than the bed, and Hermione nearly crawls right back in. Narcissa stirs, reaching out across the sheets as Hermione pulls away. Her wedding ring gleams dully in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

 

“Lucius,” she mumbles then falls back to sleep.

 

Hermione frowns at the twinge in her chest. Pain and regret.  _ Narcissa lost her family. I can relate to that. _ There’s something else too, something she can’t quite grasp. Feeling the sudden urge to get out of the room, which now feels too small, she hastily tugs on her jeans and boots, throws on a lightweight sweater and slips outside.

 

The town is eerily still and silent. Half the street lamps are out and some of the rest flicker feebly. Hermione clutches her wand in her sweater pocket, feeling a little guilty about leaving Narcissa without one. But the wards should keep her safe enough, and Hermione won’t be out long, just enough to clear her head.

 

After a few minutes of aimless walking, she comes across a residential street - or the remains of one. She understands better why the town is so deserted, why the remaining residents have gathered at the motel. The houses are in ruins. Burned down, debris everywhere from buildings that had sections blasted apart.  Parts of the sidewalks and road are torn up. Concrete and glass litter the road.

 

Hermione stands in front of one of the houses, staring down at a burnt stuffed lion laying on the lawn. It's covered in ash and missing a leg, stuffing spilling from it. It appears to have been spared the fate of the rest of the house. 

 

Numb, Hermione picks it up. More stuffing spills from where the leg is missing. Such a sorry little thing. Hermione wonders if she could fix it up, make it good as new. 

 

She suspects not.

 

Lifting her eyes, she stares at the ruins of the home. Wonders if the family who lived there made it out when the Death Eaters came to have their fun. 

 

Hermione doubles over, retching, but there's nothing left in her stomach. Tears stream down her face. She spits, trying to get the foul taste out of her mouth. 

 

Glass and gravel crunches, signaling approaching footsteps. Hermione wipes her mouth on her sleeve, clutches the lion close and creeps across to the other side of the street. She hides behind the remains of a burned car and watches.

 

“Why're yeh so convinced the girl will come here?” says a voice Hermione doesn't recognize.

 

But the one that responds sends shivers down her spine and makes her arm burn.

 

“I saw it in her mind,” Bellatrix replies. “That night in the Manor. Her thoughts were so confused. She has some raw talent as an Occlumens, but she was focused on the sword. This town, though. It holds some significance to her.”

 

Hermione's heart sinks. She didn't know Bellatrix was a Legliminse. If Bellatrix finds them, she'll have killed Ron and Narcissa just as she did - 

 

A hand clamps down around her mouth before a sob breaks out, but it isn't hers. She stiffens, eyes widening in panic.

 

“Ssshhh,” Narcissa whispers, the corner of her mouth pressed against her ear, brushing against her skin with each movement of her lips. “It's me.”

 

Hermione shivers as Narcissa's lips brush against the shell of her ear.

 

Narcissa lowers her hand from Hermione's mouth and moves cautiously to crouch beside her, watching Bellatrix and a short woman with blonde hair and sloping shoulders come around a corner and start down the lane.

 

The two walk slowly, in no particular hurry, side by side. Bellatrix towers over the other woman, and her gaze sweeps from side to side. The woman, however, seems only to have eyes for Bellatrix.

 

“So,” the woman says slowly, “how's the boy been?”

 

Bellatrix stops under the light of one of the few working street lamps and sighs. Runs her hand through her hair. “How do you  _ think  _ he's been, Alecto?”

 

Alecto shrugs. “Dunno. When me mum died, I nearly did a jig on her grave.”

 

Bellatrix snorts in amusement. It startles Hermione, seeing Bellatrix so human. Bellatrix looks down at Alecto, her eyes soft, her lips quirked up in a smile.

 

“Yes, I imagine you did.” Then she frowns, the amusement gone. “But Narcissa isn't dead.”

 

“Nah, course not. More the general point, you see.”

 

“Of course...” Bellatrix rubs her hands down her face. “He's terrible. Mostly shut up in his room. I've got Kreacher sending him meals regularly - ”

 

Hermione starts at the mention of Kreacher. But of course. With Harry dead, Kreacher would have reverted to the ownership of the eldest remaining member of the Black family. Narcissa leans forward, suddenly intense at the mention of Draco.

 

“ - but he sends half of them back uneaten unless I practically force feed him. Cissy didn't do all this so he could bloody starve himself to death!” Bellatrix's voice rises to a shout, terrorizing a squirrel rooting through an overturned trash bin. It sprints across the road toward the trees behind the wreckage.

 

“Hush, Bella,” Alecto hisses, raising her hands placatingly.

 

Bellatrix takes a deep breath and blows it out harshly. “Whatever. Let's find the girl and the Weasley boy. If we find them, we find Narcissa.”

 

Bellatrix takes a few determined strides forward, but Alecto pauses and asks hesitantly, “And...what's the plan when we do find her?”

 

Bellatrix spins around, snarling, “I wring her fucking neck with my bare hands.”

 

“Yeah...” Alecto says slowly. She seems to consider saying something more, but then she shifts on her feet and Hermione is sure what she says isn't what she wanted to say. “And Lucius? You think he's gorn to take the Dark Lord's offer to annul the marriage or whatever?”

 

Narcissa breathes in sharply beside Hermione. Hermione glances at her. Narcissa's eyes are wide, and she looks devastated.

 

“We both know Lucius has no choice but it take it,” Bellatrix snaps. “Don't be stupid, Alecto.”

 

Alecto flinches at the insult, and instantly Bellatrix's demeanor changes.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't - ”

 

“ - mean it, yeah, I know,” Alecto grumbles. 

 

Bellatrix is still. In the light of the street lamps, Hermione sees Bellatrix lick her lips with the tip of her tongue.

 

They're both very still a moment. Hermione glances at Narcissa, spots the tear tracks down her cheek as she spins her wedding band around her finger. Hermione places her hand over Narcissa's gently.

 

Alecto speaks, drawing Hermione's attention again. “I meant how's he feel about it?”

 

“I don't know. He's furious and heartbroken, I suppose. I’ve barely spoken to him the past few days. He could have suggested the annulment to the Dark Lord himself for all I know, and the Dark Lord decided to be merciful and grant him a chance to redeem himself.”

 

Hermione can't tell how Bellatrix herself feels about any of this, or how much of her speculation is true. It hits Narcissa hard, however. She places a shaky hand over her mouth, her tears flowing freely. Shoulders shake silently.

 

Alecto shrugs. “I s’pose.” She seems uncomfortable, like some heavy thought weighs on her mind.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“No, just...don't understand it, I s’pose.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Alecto shrugs again. “Giving up on someone you love so easily.”

 

Bellatrix tilts her head. “I don't understand.”

 

“I just mean. Well. Like...if  _ I  _ was in his shoes...” Alecto loses her nerve and falls silent.

 

“Alecto...” Bellatrix's voice is soft. 

 

Alecto clears her throat. “Anyways. I don't reckon they're here or that they'd be stupid enough to wander around in the open.”

 

“They were stupid enough to break Taboo.”

 

“Fair point. Still.”

 

“Maybe I fancied a moonlit stroll, hm?” Bellatrix takes Alecto hands in hers, pulls her close and begins to dance a playful waltz. “Or a dance under the stars?”

 

Alecto snorts, but plays along and allows Bellatrix to twirl her. “So yeh brought me to this dump? How romantic.”

 

Bellatrix pulls Alecto backward against her, wrapping her arms around Alecto's waist and resting her chin on the top of Alecto's head. Alecto leans into her, placing her hands on Bellatrix's arms.

 

“I thought you enjoyed destruction.”

 

Alecto hums. “I do. Very much.”

 

“See? Then it's highly romantic.”

 

Hermione rubs her eyes, wondering if she's dreaming. She never expected to see Bellatrix Lestrange seeming so...human. Even if it is slightly twisted.

 

“I s’pose.” 

 

Alecto is silent for a moment. They both appear to enjoy the quiet. 

 

Narcissa is still trembling beside Hermione, who feels as though her heart must be beating loud enough to be heard.

 

Then Alecto says, “What are you going to do when you see Narcissa again?”

 

Bellatrix doesn't answer for a long moment. Then, barely audible, “I don't know.”

 

Alecto nods like she expected that and pats Bellatrix's arm soothingly. Kindly, she says, “Don't think too hard. You owe me a proper  _ moonlit stroll _ and  _ dance under the stars _ without you going on about your bloody sister all the time. Makes a girl feel unwanted.”

 

Bellatrix huffs a laugh, but seems relieved to change topics. “Of course, dear, how foolish of me.” She pulls away and offers Alecto her arm with an exaggerated bow. “Would my lady allow me the opportunity to amend my foolishness?”

 

Alecto scoffs playful. “Should hex yeh for that posh rubbish.” But she loops her arm through Bellatrix's all the same, and arm in arm they walk away down the ruined street, speaking in murmured voices to each other. Bellatrix's gaze no longer sweeps the street, remaining instead on Alecto, and Hermione grabs Narcissa's arm and pulls her in the opposite direction, both remaining as low to the ground as they can.

 

Once they're safely back in the motel room, Hermione says, “I'm sure Bellatrix was wrong, I'm sure Lucius doesn't want to divorce you.”

 

Narcissa’s head is bowed, her hair hiding her face. “Yes,” she says after a moment, “of course...even if Bella is correct, it's the best course of action to keep him and Draco safe. Lucius has already fallen so far from the Dark Lord's favor... Asking for a divorce is really the best thing for him and Draco, a public show of cutting ties, of performing loyalty.”

 

She wipes the tears from her face, as delicate and dignified as she possibly can. A certain confidence returns to her, although Hermione wonders how convinced Narcissa truly is.

 

Hermione places the stuffed lion on top of her backpack, and they slip back into bed, remaining fully clothed this time. Staring silently at opposite walls, uncomfortable silence replaces whatever had been between them before. Hermione finds she prefers the tension of before to this. Wishes Narcissa would snap at her, call her foolish for ignoring her warning about wandering. But Narcissa says nothing.

 

They don't fall asleep, and not another word is spoken.


	10. Chapter 10

The silence in the tent is tense and awkward. Hermione stares blankly at her books, and Ron stands by the flaps, gathering his courage. Narcissa glances between them, closes her book, stands from  her cot and, pausing just long enough to give Hermione’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, she ducks out of the tent.

 

A long minute stretches between them. 

 

“What do you want, Ron?” 

 

“To apologize. I’m sorry, Hermione, I shouldn’t have said - ”

 

“That you’re the only one who cares about Harry?” Hermione snaps, her eyes flashing. 

 

The tips of Ron’s ears turn red. He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah... I shouldn’t have said that. I know you care about Harry. I’m sorry. I just...between Fred and Harry...and then I  _ needed _ you and you were off - ” He stops.  His voice had begun rising, and he takes a deep breath and lets it out, clenching and unclenching his fist. “You stopped talking to me. You were avoiding me, but you’ll talk to Narcissa instead of me, and...”

 

Hermione frowns, feeling guilty. “I couldn’t talk about it. We weren’t safe. I couldn’t...I couldn’t let myself break down. And I...couldn’t face you...not knowing...”

 

“Not knowing what?” Ron asks. “Is this - is this because of our kiss? Do you regret it? Did you just do it because you thought you had to? Did - ”

 

Hermione takes a deep breath, not wanting to go down that particular track. “It’s my fault Harry’s dead.” The words come out in a rush, and she blinks against the tears stinging her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, I should have killed the snake, if I had Harry wouldn’t be - ”

 

Ron stares at her blankly. “What...?” He blinks and straightens up. “What, no, Hermione - no! It’s not your fault! I could have - it’s not your fault, Hermione. It just...it just happened. I could have killed the snake too, but I didn’t, I barely did anything - ”

 

Hermione shakes her head. “That isn’t true. You -  _ I’m _ the one who’s supposed to take care of everything - ”

 

“You can’t put that on yourself, Hermione, you’ll explode,” Ron says. “From all the pressure, you know? It wasn’t just you. I could have killed the snake. Harry -  _ Harry _ could have killed the snake too. Is it his fault what happened?”

 

“No! Of course not!”

 

“See.” Ron spreads his arms out in front of him, palms up. “You can’t do that yourself. The only one to blame is You-Know-Who.”

 

Hermione rubs the back of her hand across her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry, Ron. I should have been there for you.”

 

“I’m sorry too. I got so wrapped up in myself I wasn’t there for you either,” Ron says, sitting beside her at the table. 

 

“And it didn’t...I didn’t kiss you because I thought I had to or because I thought we wouldn’t make it or anything like that, but...” She trails off, staring back down at her book. “I don’t think...”

 

Ron smiles sadly. “Things are different now. Aren’t they?”

 

Hermione nods miserably, tears blurring her vision again. Ron wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a tight side hug.

 

“It’s okay. I think...I think I already knew. I’m not sure I’m in a place for that right now anyway after...after everything,” Ron finishes. 

 

Hermione leans into Ron and rests her head on his shoulder, remembering when she did this with Harry after Ron left. She still feels lingering hurt. It will take time, she thinks, but it’s a start. A weight feels as though it has been lifted from her chest. It’s a little easier to breathe. 

 

She feels something in her hair. Shifting slightly, she sees tears sliding down Ron’s cheeks. Hermione swallows.

 

“I’m so sorry about Fred,” she whispers brokenly. Tears sting her eyes, and she does not fight them. Ron hugs her tighter, and they sit together in silence. 

 

A few minutes later, Narcissa poked her head into the tent warily. “Oh good.”

 

Ron clears his throat and hastily wipes away his tears. “Worried we might have killed each other?” He tries for a smile.

 

Narcissa raises an eyebrow. “That assumes I believe you could take Miss Granger in a fight, and I do not for one second believe that.”

 

“Ron is a good wizard. He’s a lot better in a fight than I am,” Hermione says. “He’s much better strategist.”

 

“I see,” Narcissa says, though she sounds unconvinced. 

 

Ron glares at her.

 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione pulls away. “Please don’t fight. We need to work together if we’re going to defeat You-Know-Who.”

 

“Right.” Ron grabs the papers and books Hermione was looking over and pulls them closer to him, eyes scanning the parchment and pages, a thoughtful frown on his face.

 

Hermione glances at Narcissa. She, too, is frowning. 

 

“You really believe you can beat him,” Narcissa says.

 

“Yes,” Hermione says. “I do.”

 

Narcissa studies her for a moment. Then she turns and leaves the tent, and Hermione feels disappointment settle in the pit of her stomach. 


	11. Chapter 11

Footsteps approach the camp, and Hermione jumps to her feet, wand drawn. She relaxes when she catches a flash of blonde and red. Ron and Narcissa cross the boundaries of the campsite wards. Ron holds a bulky radio in his hands, and Narcissa hitches the backpack further up her shoulders.

 

“How did it go?” Hermione asks, sitting back down on a rock she dragged over to the campfire. 

 

“Great,” Ron says. 

 

Narcissa drops the backpack beside Hermione’s legs. “The town is overrun with Dementors.”

 

Hermione frowns at Ron who hastily adds, “We got plenty of supplies, though. My Patronus kept us safe. They’re all there in the backpack.”

 

Hermione unzips the bag and rifles through a plastic bag on top of everything that is full of canned goods. Beans and various stews, mostly. Underneath the bag, she finds new cooking ware: pots, pans, bowls and utensils. Pushing it aside, she thinks she sees a folded up winter jacket, but she can’t be sure. It isn’t important right now.

 

She smiles up at them. “This is great.”

 

“There’s more,” Narcissa remarks, “but you can go through all of that later. It’s been days since I’ve eaten properly.”

 

Hermione pulls out the cooking ware and a few cans of stew as they enter the tent. While she and Narcissa set about unpacking to food and silverware in the kitchen, Ron places the wireless radio on the long table in the chair nearest the kitchen, pulls out his wand and begins muttering spells under his breath.

 

“What are you doing?” Hermione asks.

 

“Trying to charm this radio,” Ron says. “Maybe we can pick up Wizarding signals. Someone might be keeping Potterwatch going.”

 

Narcissa frowns. “Potterwatch?”

 

“It’s how Order members communicated with people who supported Harry,” Hermione says. “There was a new password every week. Do you really think you can get it working?” she adds to Ron, who pokes his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

 

“Dunno, but I’ve got to try. Too dangerous to go near Diagon Alley to get one, and the Snatchers trashed the last one when they caught us.”

 

Hermione leaves Ron to experiment with the wireless radio, despite her temptation to try to help. He appears to have an idea of where to start, and she doesn’t want to step on his toes. Ever since they reached their understanding weeks ago, Ron has been actively trying to take on responsibilities, to ease the burden she feels, and Hermione has been trying to let him.

 

“Do you really think your friends will continue to use the radio?” Narcissa questions. “The Order was nearly wiped out at Hogwarts. I can’t believe they’ll be allowed to contact each other. The Dark Lord will be watching them closely.”

 

“The Order had other ways of communicating,” Hermione says. “Patronuses, for example.”

 

Narcissa raises her eyebrows in surprise. “The Order communicated through Patronus? Clever. How did they do it?”

 

Hermione frowns. “I don’t know. Somehow they were able to pass messages that way, but sadly we never had a chance to learn how.”

 

Narcissa frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps, we could discover how they did it. It has to be a combination of spells. Perhaps...what spell did you use on those fake galleons?”

 

“A Protean charm,” Hermione says, catching on. “Maybe we could work out the theory behind it and recreate it!” 

 

Narcissa smiles, slight but genuine, and for the first time, Hermione saw a spark of something in Narcissa’s eyes. Perhaps Hermione wasn’t the only one who would benefit from having something to focus on.

 

“Would you like to help me?” Hermione asks, opening a can of beef stew with her wand and pouring its contents into one of the new cooking pots on the stove. She turns the burner on, watching Narcissa out of the corner of her eye. 

 

Narcissa pauses. She watches Hermione for a moment, thinking. “Yes,” she says finally.

 

“Great!” Hermione says. “We can start after lunch.”

 

Narcissa looks at the dishes in the sink, moves her hand as though to grab something from her pocket, pauses, and, after looking around awkwardly, leaves the kitchen to sit at the table with Ron who is still muttering under his breath and waving his wand over the wireless radio.


	12. Chapter 12

Another abandoned town, overrun by Dementors. Hermione’s otter swims lazily on its back through the air around them while Ron’s terrier trots circles, jumping and batting at the otter playfully. The Dementors watch them, hovering in a wide circle around them. Hermione and Ron stick close together, Narcissa - still wandless - nearly wedged between them.

 

Ron reaches across Narcissa to grab Hermione’s arm and stops. “What’s that?”

 

Hermione listens. All she hears is the sound of their breathing and the soft swishing of cloaks as the Dementor’s move.

 

“What?” Hermione whispers.

 

“I thought I heard something,” Ron murmurs, peering past the glow of their Patronuses and the fog of the Dementors.

 

Then Hermione hears it. Voices. Which means only two things: either witches or wizards passing through, who may or may not be friendly - or Death Eaters.

 

Narcissa taps their shoulders and points at the house they’re passing. As Hermione keeps her Patronus close, Ron unlocks the door. He closes it behind them, locking the Dementors out, and Hermione extinguishes her Patronus just she spots a group of four wizards round a corner from another street.

 

Hermione, Ron, and Narcissa crouch in front of the window, peering through gaps in the shades. As the group wanders down the street, Hermione realizes with a sinking feeling that they are unbothered by the Dementors despite not having Patronuses.

 

“Death Eaters,” Ron hisses.

 

Hermione squints. Two of the Death Eaters are tall, one a little taller than the other. The other two are short.

 

“This town is abandoned. Why are we here, Bellatrix?” says the familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy. He swipes the hood off of his head, shooting the other tall Death Eater a glare. There are dark bags under his eyes, so deep and bruised they're noticeable even from a distance. His long hair is limp and frazzled. His face is pale and drawn. In short, he looks awful, and Hermione feels almost sorry for him.

 

Almost.

 

Bellatrix removes her hood calmly. “Why is everyone _always_ questioning me? Do none of you ever listen? We’re here because Fenrir claims his Snatchers saw the mublood girl in the area _._ ”

 

Lucius rolls his eyes.

 

“What, do yeh not want to find yer dear wife, Lucius?” sneers one of the shorter Death Eaters.

 

“Shut it, Amycus,” snaps Alecto, brushing off her hood.

 

“What's yer problem?” Amycus grumbles. Their voices carry on the eerily silent street. “Yer not the one with a blood traitor fer a wife, are yeh?”

 

Hermione glances at Narcissa. Her hands grip her knees, fingers digging into her skin. Eyes wide and face stricken, Narcissa seems to have eyes only for Lucius.

 

Worried Narcissa might hurt herself, Hermione gently tugs Narcissa's hand away from her knee and wraps Narcissa's hand around her own instead. Hermione isn't sure Narcissa has even noticed. She barely twitches, a split second darting glance at their hands her only acknowledgment she knows Hermione touched her at all.

 

“Alecto is right. That's quite enough, Amycus,” Bellatrix says coldly.

 

Amycus snickers. “Least my family ain't two fer three on blood traitors, is it?”

 

Bellatrix rounds on Amycus, her expression twisted into a nasty snarl, wand raised. Alecto steps between them, and Bellatrix's wand lowers a few inches instantly.

 

Unperturbed by the danger he's in, Amycus sneers, “How long ‘fore you turn traitor too, Lestrange?”

 

Bellatrix steps forward, one arm raised to point her wand at Amycus, the other attempting to shove Alecto out of the way.

 

“Move, Alecto, I'm going to teach him a lesson - ”

 

“ _No_. He's a git, but he's my brother, knock it off both of you, Amycus stop winding her up - ”

 

Ron lets out a soft disbelieving laugh. “We don't even need to fight them. Look at them. We leave them alone long enough, they'll kill each other for us.”

 

“Enough,” Lucius snaps. “You're both acting like children.”

 

“Least I'm not scared of the Dementors under my bed,” Amycus shoots back. “Not like the two of you. Don't think I haven't noticed. Clamming up around them.”

 

Alecto shoves Amycus. “Go check the other end of the street. Take Lucius. Try not to kill each other.”

 

“We should stick together,” Lucius says stiffly. “We don't know what could be lurking here.”

 

“You just don't wanna be alone with the scary Dementors,” Amycus says. “One lousy year in Azkaban, and you’re broken - got no spine anymore. Disgusting.” Then he pauses, his expression turning shrewd and cold. “He is right, though. Bout staying together. How do we even know he's got the guts to do what needs to be done? He might stab me in the back if we find the bitch and run off with her.”

 

Narcissa's hand tightens around Hermione's, and she leans forward, her whole body radiating anxious energy as she waits for what will be said next.

 

Hermione thinks she sees Bellatrix's wand twitch when Amycus calls Narcissa a bitch, but she turns to watch Lucius, who glares coldly at Amycus.

 

“And betray the Dark Lord?”

 

For a moment, Hermione forgets what she overheard about Lucius from Bellatrix and Alecto. Instead, she's back at the Department of Mysteries, looking at those icy grey eyes through the slits of a Death Eater hood.

 

“Of course not,” Lucius sneers. “Black is a traitor, and soon she'll be no wife of mine.”

 

Narcissa whimpers, her grip on Hermione's hand tightening painfully.

 

“So the Dark Lord did offer to dissolve yer marriage then?” Amycus asks, eyeing Lucius suspiciously.

 

“The Dark Lord is most gracious,” Lucius says, with a small nod. “When he chooses. I am grateful he sees fit to be generous to me and my son.”

 

Narcissa's grip tightens further. Hermione hisses in pain, and Narcissa's grip loosens slightly. Almost instinctively, Hermione thinks, because Narcissa gives no indication that she's aware Hermione made a sound.

 

“Narcissa?” Hermione whispers.

 

A Dementor glides past the Death Eaters. Lucius cringes away from it. Bellatrix’s whole body stiffens, her face paling. For all his sneering, Amycus watches the Dementor warily, his head turning to follow it. Alecto steps closer to Bellatrix, wand held in one hand as though daring the Dementor to come any closer their group while her other hand grasps Bellatrix’s, squeezing and running her thumb along the back of her hand soothingly. The action is hidden from Lucius and Amycus by their bodies, and Hermione notes that as soon as Lucius turns his head toward them, Alecto lets go and steps away slightly.

 

Bellatrix shakes herself slightly. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”

 

Hermione feels cold creeping up the back of her neck, hair standing on end. Narcissa gasps, her hand tightening around Hermione’s fingers again.

 

“Shit,” Ron whispers, his face pale. His breath fogs the air. “We didn’t check the back door.”

 

There’s a rattling breath behind them.

 

Hermione leaps to her feet. “ _Expecto Patronum_ _!_ ” Her otter explodes from the tip of her wand and swims furiously at the Dementor, which shies away.

 

“What’s that?” Bellatrix demands, and Hermione curses.

 

“In that house, there! A patronus!” Lucius says as Hermione’s otter swims past the window, its glow surely visible through the cracks in the blinds.

 

A Dementor behind them, Death Eaters in front of them. Hermione feels herself tense up, beginning to freeze.

 

“Come on, we have to Apparate!” Ron says, grabbing hold of Narcissa and reaching for Hermione’s hand as the door bursts open behind them.

 

Bellatrix stands framed in the doorway, her eyes flashing. Her eyes land on Narcissa, and her face twists in fury. Lucius nearly bowls into Bellatrix’s back, and his eyes widen when his gaze lands on Narcissa, his face turning ghost white.

 

“ _Narcissa_ _!_ ” Bellatrix snarls, her voice rising to a roar.

 

Hermione only has a split second to glance at Narcissa’s pale and stricken face before she feels a tug around her navel, signalling Ron pulling them with him in a Side Along Apparition. As they disappear, there's a flash of red light, and Bellatrix screams in anger.


	13. Chapter 13

Narcissa has been quiet the past few days. Whenever Hermione tries to talk to her, she’s distracted and distant. Hermione frequently catches her staring off into the distance, twirling her wedding ring around her finger.

 

“She’ll be fine,” Ron says, when Hermione expresses her concerns to him one night. They speak softly so as not to be overheard, although Hermione doubts Narcissa would even notice. She looks lost in her own thoughts.

 

“She needs time,” Ron says, catching the look on Hermione's face. “Give her some time. Leave her alone for now.”

 

“Okay,” Hermione agrees, biting her lip. She has a tendency to care too much, to push too hard. For now she'll trust Ron's judgement and let Narcissa come to them.

 

But Narcissa doesn't, and a few days later, while Ron works on the wireless radio and Hermione bites her lip to keep from interjecting when he has not asked for it, Ron gives her a small nod and tilts his head in Narcissa's direction. She is once again seated away from the campfire, staring out into the distance, spinning her wedding ring around her finger.

 

Hermione moves to sit next to her. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.

 

Narcissa blinks and slowly turns to look at Hermione, her expression not quite all there, as if a part of her is still far away in thought.

 

“How do you think?” Narcissa asks, but it lacks the bite Hermione would have expected. Instead it sounds almost curious.

 

Hermione considers, wanting to tread carefully. “I think a lot’s happened. It can't be easy.”

 

Narcissa turns her gaze back to the trees. “No. It isn't. I know, of course, that Lucius cannot express his true feelings to anyone, but still...it hurts to hear.”

 

“You think he was lying?” Hermione asks carefully. It shouldn't surprise her that Narcissa reaches for that explanation. It makes only sense. Of course she doesn’t want to believe her husband truly rejects her, that she wants to hold on to the hope that, once they succeed, everything will return to normal.

 

“Of course I do,” Narcissa snaps - or tries too, because once again, she seems too distracted to hold on to her anger for long. 

 

“And Bellatrix?” Hermione asks.

 

Narcissa looks down, staring at her wedding band as she plays with it. “Bellatrix made it clear where she stands. You saw how she looked at me.”

 

Hermione resists the impulse to touch Narcissa's arm. “How do you feel?” she asks again.

 

Narcissa doesn't answer. 

 

After a moment, Hermione gives in to the impulse to lay a comforting hand on Narcissa's arm. “I'm sure Lucius only said those things to cover with the others,” she says sympathetically, though the words leave a bad taste in her mouth. She doesn't spare that much thought, however, not when Narcissa seems to perk up a little at that.

 

“Do you want to help me with trying to figure out the Patronus messages?” Hermione asks. Hopefully Narcissa will take the offer.

 

Narcissa smiles absently at her. “Perhaps later. I'd rather be alone for now.”

 

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Hermione says, feeling faintly embarrassed. She stands up and starts back toward Ron.

 

“Hermione?” 

 

She turns around.

 

“Thank you,” Narcissa says.

 

Warmth fills Hermione's chest. “Anytime.”


	14. Chapter 14

When Hermione comes back from gathering water from a nearby stream, she hears Narcissa's voice first, engaged in conversation for the first time since they ran into Lucius over a week ago (by her estimate, it's difficult to keep track of the days when they're on the run). 

 

“Have you tried...”

 

“Yes,” Ron says testily. Then he blows out a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I'm just...I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

 

“The Wizarding Wireless is a complex bit of magic,” Narcissa says. “You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You're making excellent progress. It no longer needs electricity to run, now does it?”

 

“No,” Ron admits somewhat begrudgingly, “but it doesn't do much else either.”

 

Static rings through the trees. Hermione thinks she hears a quick snatch of unintelligible voices.

 

“I think I heard something!” Narcissa says excitedly. Hermione feels a twinge of jealousy. She has worried about Narcissa and tried to be there for her ever since saving her, but it’s Ron, now, who can cheer her up without even trying? 

 

She frowns. Guilt twists her insides. It’s not fair that she should be angry with Ron. He didn’t do anything wrong, and above all, she’s happy to hear Narcissa sound genuinely excited about something for once. She just wishes it could have been because of something she did, though she does not know why that matters to her. She decides not to examine the thought too closely.

 

She hangs back and listens to them excitedly swap theories on the progress he’s making, afraid that if she reenters the campsite she’ll interrupt and Narcissa will pull back. For a few minutes, she just revels in the excitement in Narcissa’s voice. Eventually, she can no longer justify not returning, and she knows that any second Ron will wonder why she isn’t back yet. She adjusts the water jugs in her hands and treks back to the campfire.

 

“Hermione!” Ron exclaims when he sees her. “We heard voices! Only for a second, but they were there.”

 

Hermione smiles back at him, but her attention is on Narcissa. Narcissa’s reaction is the one most important to her right now - again, she does not wish to examine that thought too closely - and she half expects Narcissa to retreat back to a corner away from them. Instead, Narcissa turns to look at her, her face aglow with an eager grin and a spark lighting up her beautiful blue eyes that takes Hermione’s breath away.

 

“Ron is making excellent progress,” Narcissa says, a little breathless with excitement, and Hermione loves the sound more than any other she’s ever heard. “We have some theories - perhaps you could help us make some more progress - ”

 

“Oh,” Hermione says, a little taken aback. She kicks her brain, trying to get it working again, but her mind seems stuck on how beautiful Narcissa looks when she’s breathless with triumph over making progress on a tricky problem. She wants to agree, but she’s been trying not to take over for Ron’s sake. She glances at him.

 

He seems to understand, and he nods, smiling at her. “Yeah. Help us. Maybe the three of us can figure it out. Get it the rest of the way there.”

 

Hermione agrees instantly, setting the water jugs down where she stands and crossing the distance to perch herself on the log Narcissa is sitting on, realizing only after that perhaps she should have chosen a spot that doesn’t have her pressed against Narcissa’s side to peer at the radio in Ron’s lap. Narcissa doesn’t seem to mind, however.

 

“What have you tried so far?” Hermione asks.

 

Ron tells her, and they begin discussing possible theories. Much of the magic involved is related to theories Hermione has only read about, which have only been touched upon in classes at Hogwarts. It’s advanced and specialized, and Hermione feels her heart pick up at the thought of a challenge. 

 

“Have you ever done anything like this?” she asks Narcissa.

 

Narcissa shakes her head. “No. Well. I have once. I thought it would be a fun project when I was younger to try to fix an old Wireless Radio my parents planned to throw away. Bella thought it was a waste of time when we could just buy another one, but I think she was intrigued despite herself. However, it was a Wizarding Wireless Radio. Much of the base enchantments and charms were already in place and still intact. It's far more complicated to start from the ground up.”

 

Hermione listens fascinated. “You tried to fix an old radio?”

 

“I did. I succeeded too.” Narcissa smiles softly. “I wanted to prove that I could. Besides, it seemed an easy enough way to practice some of the principles I had learned in class that year.”

 

“When did you practice this?” Hermione asks, finding that last detail odd. She can't pinpoint why, though. Not until Narcissa answers.

 

“My summer between fifth and sixth year. I was sixteen. I wanted to prove I was as good as Bellatrix. It...also served as an excellent distraction.”

 

“How could you practice magic? You weren't of age,” Hermione says, before she processes the rest of what Narcissa says. “A distraction from what?”

 

“The Ministry can't determine who casts magic in a Wizarding household. They rely on parents to enforce the rules. Suffice to say, my parents did not enforce those rules except as punishment or when we had guests.”

 

“That's not fair! It puts muggleborns at a disadvantage!” Hermione feels her temper spark. 

 

Narcissa raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “From all the complaining Draco did over the summers, it does not appear to have put  _ you _ at a disadvantage at all.”

 

Hermione blushes, her anger snuffed out. “Oh...thank you. I...I tried. I studied hard.” Shaking herself a little, she tries to pull herself together. It isn't like her to get so flustered over her academic achievements. But, something in the back of her mind points out, this isn't just anyone pointing out her talent. 

 

She tells herself she only means that Narcissa, until recently at the very least, espoused pureblood ideology and that, and only that, is why her praise means so much. 

 

“You...you said it served as a distraction?” Hermione asks, trying to gather herself.

 

Narcissa frowns. “Yes. That was the summer my sister Andromeda ran away. I don't know if you met her, although I do believe you worked with her daughter for the Order.”

 

Hermione blinks back tears. “Yeah...I still can't believe Tonks is gone...”

 

“Gone?” Narcissa asks.

 

“Dead,” Ron says sharply. “She died at Hogwarts. Lupin too.”

 

“I didn’t know...” Narcissa frowns. She swallows. “Lupin was her husband?” 

 

Ron jerks his head in a nod.

 

“I see...” Narcissa gets a far away look in her eyes again, and Hermione hates that her happiness has vanished once more. “Andromeda’s husband died too, didn't he? A fight with Snatchers...I heard about it...Andy doesn't have anyone left, does she...”

 

“Tonks had a son,” Hermione says softly. “A few months before Hogwarts. He's probably with Andromeda now...”

 

Narcissa blinks back sudden tears. “I see. I...” She stands up abruptly and disappears inside the tent.

 

Hermione remains where she is, helpless.


	15. Chapter 15

It's dangerous for them to wander so close to Hermione's old home, but the more they come across destroyed and run down towns in the more rural areas, the more desperate they become for a sign that not everything is terrible, that there are still places where life continues as normal, a sign of something that they could save.

 

Hermione mournfully watches a chunk of pavement clatter down the deserted street when she kicks it accidentally. The street reminds her of Diagon Alley the summer before sixth year, right after Voldemort’s return had been announced to the whole Wizarding World: empty, boarded up shop windows, mostly deserted. What few people are moving about on the street are tense and on edge, looking over their shoulders and eyeing her, Ron and Narcissa suspiciously along with anyone else on the street. Most people move quickly in groups of two or three, although if they’re muggles, Hermione is not sure how numbers would help them.

 

“Where are we?” Narcissa asks, glancing around. “Is this London?”

 

Hermione nods, frowning. “That’s the Central Library right there.” She points to the tall building beside them. 

 

A man on the opposite side of the street stops, eyeing them warily. Hermione watches him out of the corner of her eye. Something about him seems off. Almost familiar somehow. Narcissa touches her shoulder. Hermione glances at her.

 

She’s spotted the man too, and her jaw clenches. 

 

“I see,” Narcissa says, lowering her hand, and turning away from the man, although her gaze darts back to him every few seconds. “And why are we here?”

 

Hermione frowns. “You know - ”

 

“I think we should leave,” Narcissa says, her voice clear and ringing on the quiet street. 

 

In the distance, Hermione hears the promising sound of a car horn. Perhaps not all is lost. Perhaps something of the old life still remains.

 

Narcissa’s eyes dart back to the man who is watching them closely.

 

“Act natural,” she whispers, her lips barely moving. “That man is watching.”

 

Fear crawls up Hermione’s spine. Death Eaters.  _ Of course _ there are Death Eaters in London. What had they been thinking? But she had to know, they all did...

 

Hermione nods. “Is he a Death Eater?”

 

“No,” Narcissa says with a frown, “I don’t think so. Perhaps he’s just a muggle...”

 

“Can’t be too careful,” Ron whispers. 

 

Hermione glances at the man. He’s started moving down the sidewalk again. But it wouldn’t do to let down their guard. He might be planning to circle back around and follow them, hoping they wouldn’t notice. 

 

“Perhaps we can get into one of these buildings and go out the back? Lose him that way?” 

 

“We could just Apparate right here,” Ron mutters.

 

“If he’s a Death Eater or a Snatcher, he could attack us if we try. We’ll be lucky if we only end up Splinched,” Narcissa says, and places her hands on their shoulders and guides them down the sidewalk toward a boarded up department store. There’s a giant hole in the side of the building several stories up.

 

“Why?” Hermione whispers, staring up at it. “Why did the Death Eaters attack here of all places?”

 

“Random, most likely,” Narcissa says, taking Hermione’s wand from where it dangles in her fingertips as she surveys the damage. “The Dark Lord clearly isn’t interested in following the Secrecy Laws - not that he ever was, but there’s no one around to clean up his messes. You don’t know what the first war was like. Muggle hunting is a sport. There’s no rhyme or reason behind most of the targets.” 

 

She vanishes the boards in front of the department store doors, unlocks them with a wave of Hermione’s wand and pushes her and Ron inside, glancing over her shoulder. Hermione looks too: the man is gone - or at least appears to be. Narcissa spins around, wards the front doors, and boards them back up.

 

“That should give us enough time if someone comes looking for us,” Narcissa whispers. “We should lay low in here a while. See if anyone comes looking.”

 

“No,” Ron objects, “we should get out of here.”

 

“And suppose that man is a wizard? Suppose we try to leave only to run right into Death Eaters?”

 

“And what if we stay here and Death Eaters find us?”

 

Hermione frowns. Both have a point. It’s a matter of luck, she thinks, but also...

 

“If we stay here, maybe we can gain more information about what’s happening. I thought I heard cars in the distance, but where is everyone?” she asks.

 

Narcissa thinks. “It’s possible only this section of the city has been evacuated. The Death Eaters are less likely to destroy parts of the city near Wizarding establishments such as St Mungos, the Ministry and Diagon Alley, simply because it would be inconvenient for them to do so.”

 

“So if we wanted to find out what was going on, we should head closer to - ”

 

“No,” Ron and Narcissa say together. They glance at each other.

 

“Absolutely not,” Narcissa says, tense. “This is risky enough as it is, but going into Wizarding parts of London would be suicide.”

 

Ron jerks his head in a nod. “She’s right. Our faces have got to be plastered all over.” He pauses. “Still, I mean.”

 

“You’re right,” Hermione says, “but if we get near Diagon Alley, maybe we can find out what happened to - ” She stops short of saying  _ to Harry _ . She hopes Neville managed to get Harry’s body, to bring him somewhere to put him to rest properly like he deserves.

 

Narcissa watches her curiously, but Ron’s shoulders slump. He understands.

 

There’s a creak somewhere behind them like a door opening, and they all freeze. Narcissa waves them toward a staircase leading to the second floor. As they creep up the steps, Hermione’s blood runs cold.

 

“Yeh sure about the address that man gave yeh?” Alecto’s voice says.

 

“I swear to Merlin,” Bellatrix growls, “if anyone questions me  _ one more time _ \- ”

 

Alecto snickers. “Yeh too easy to wind up, yeh know? It’s why we do it.”

 

Bellatrix sighs exasperatedly. “They can’t have gotten too far. The man Apparated right to Diagon Alley. It can’t have been more than ten minutes since he saw them here.”

 

“Assuming he’s tellin’ the truth ‘bout seeing them, that is.”

 

“He’d be a fool to lie to me.”

 

Narcissa leads them up another flight of stairs. They creep as quietly as they can, but they freeze when they feel a rush of magic pass through them.

 

Alecto snickers. “We know yer here,” she says, a hint of a sing-song tone to her voice. “No point hiding.”

 

Ron seizes both Hermione and Narcissa's wrists and spins on the spot - but nothing happens.

 

“Shit,” he hisses, “we can't Apparate, I  _ knew _ we should've - ”

 

A curse whizzes past his ear, taking a chunk out of the wall behind him. Bellatrix and Alecto stand at the top of the stairs. Bellatrix’s wand is pointed at them, and Alecto’s is half-raised, her eyes darting to Bellatrix as if waiting to follow her lead.

 

“Cissy,” Bellatrix hisses, eyes narrowed. “So good to see you again. I think it’s time we had a little  _ chat _ .”

 

“Of course, Bellatrix,” Narcissa says, her voice forcibly polite. “I like what the Death Eaters have done with place.” She glances at the gaping hole in the side of the building. “Do I detect your touch with the redecorating?”

 

“Fuck off, Cissy,” Bellatrix snarls.

 

“Cissy, I’m wounded,” Alecto says. Her tone is playful, but her demeanor is tense and wary, glancing between Narcissa and Bellatrix. “I thought we were close enough that you’d recognize this as  _ my _ handiwork.”

 

“Ah, of course.” 

 

Narcissa takes a small step back, reaching behind her to brush her fingers against Hermione’s wrist. Hermione suppresses the shiver she feels at the touch. Glancing at Ron, she sees his eyes dart to his hand, and she notices Narcissa’s fingers retracting from Ron’s own wrist, her fingers flexing slowly. Her pinky finger is slower than the others, pausing for the briefest second before curling against her palm like the rest. 

 

Ron raises his eyes to glare at Bellatrix and Alecto, his jaw set, a determination blazing in them. Hermione didn’t understand. Had Narcissa communicated something? Hermione glances in the direction Narcissa’s pinky had pointed, but all she sees is a ceiling tile dangling so low, it nearly brushes the clothes rack beneath it.

 

“My apologies, Alecto,” Narcissa continues without missing a beat. “It must be how much you’re  _ rubbing off _ on my sister.”

 

Bellatrix’s eyes widen.

 

“ _ Cissy _ !” Bellatrix hisses. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

Alecto snickers. “Yeh, I’m really rubbing off on her.” She frowns at Narcissa. “Not so much lately, thanks to you. Not much time to be rubbing off on ‘er when she’s too busy hunting you down, so thanks for that.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Alecto!” Bellatrix snaps, shooting a glare at Alecto. 

 

In that split second of distraction, Ron grabs Narcissa’s wrist and Hermione’s and sprints further into the department store, dragging them both with him. Hermione stumbles but tries to keep up. Narcissa runs without missing a beat, having clearly expected the move. 

 

A spell streaks past her ear, blasting a hole in the wall in front of them. Ron lets go of her wrist for a moment to throw his hand up to shield his face from the debris - and another spell hits the ground at Hermione’s feet, tripping her when the tiled floor cracks and jumps upward as it breaks. She looks up to see the ends of Narcissa’s hair disappearing through a door to a stairwell, the bright red EXIT sign visible to her now. 

 

This is what Narcissa had signaled with her pinky, Hermione realizes. She had seen the EXIT sign when Hermione hadn’t, when it must have been blocked from her view. How long will it take Ron and Narcissa to realize Hermione isn’t with them? 

 

But part of Hermione hopes they don’t come back, even as hands seize the back of her shirt and haul her roughly to her feet. Bellatrix spins her around, grabs her by the shoulders and storms forward, shoving her backward. Hermione struggles to keep her feet under her. Bellatrix slams her back against the wall.

 

“ _ You _ ,” she snarls.

 

Hermione raises her wand, but Alecto snatches her wrist and pries it from between her fingers.

 

“None of that,” Alecto says.

 

Hermione swallows hard. Somewhere below, she hears a man shout something - Ron, maybe? She can’t quite tell - and she hears a door slam open and closed. She hopes Ron doesn’t do anything reckless or stupid.

 

“I’ll go after the boy,” Alecto says, handing Hermione’s wand to Bellatrix. Bellatrix nods, her eyes flicking away from Hermione to Alecto for only a second.

 

Alecto disappears into the stairwell.

 

“You and I are going to have a nice little chat,” Bellatrix says, her voice nearly a growl. 

 

There’s a series of loud  _ cracks _ outside. Bellatrix stiffens, suddenly alert. Hermione listens, barely breathing, wondering what could possible have  _ Bellatrix Lestrange _ so on edge. 

 

There’s a shout - a man’s voice - and then a woman screams in agony.

 

Bellatrix’s hold on Hermione tightens, her fingers digging into her arms, her nails biting Hermione’s skin even through the fabric of her shirt. Her face drains of color.

 

“Narcissa,” Bellatrix whispers.


	16. Chapter 16

Bellatrix sprints for the stairs, forgetting Hermione completely. Hermione’s wand hits the floor with a clatter. Hermione scoops it up and races after Bellatrix, following Narcissa’s screams.

 

Bellatrix bursts through the door outside, and Hermione stops short, suddenly able to hear other voices.

 

“What are yeh doing?” Alecto asks, as Hermione peers around the doorway to see Bellatrix storming toward a group of Death Eaters. “The Dark Lord wants her - ”

 

“Alive, yes, but he never said what condition she had to be in,” Amycus cackles. “She's gorn to be alive when I'm done, don't worry, dear sister.”

 

Hermione shifts her gaze to the group behind Amycus and Alecto. Her heart drops, and her stomach twists sickeningly. Rodolphus, Lucius and Draco stand behind Amycus and Alecto. Draco struggles against the hold Rodolphus has on him, nearly in a headlock as Rodolphus tries to take his wand from him. 

 

If Lucius looked awful, Draco looks worse. His hair is unkempt, longer and shaggier than Hermione remembers, as if he has not bothered to get a haircut in months nor take proper care of it. His grey eyes stand out in sharp contrast to the deep bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. 

 

“Rodolphus,” Bellatrix snaps, “what the hell do you think you're doing? Unhand him!”

 

Rodolphus sneers. “The boy can't handle what happens to traitors, it seems. We best teach him a lesson too.”

 

Narcissa lays sprawled on her back, gasping for breath. Tears stream down the sides of her face into her hair. Her limbs tremble from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse. She looks barely able to move, and Hermione wonders how she can get them to safety. She thinks Narcissa is beyond the bounds of the Anti Apparition Jinx, but she can't be sure. 

 

When Rodolphus twists Draco's arm behind his back harshly, causing Draco to cry out in pain, Narcissa struggles to move.

 

“Please,” she rasps, her voice raw from screaming. “He's just a boy...”

 

Rage courses through Hermione. Her pulse pounds in her ears. She wants to attack Amycus, to hurt him, to make him pay. But she can only watch and hope she finds a way to get Narcissa out of this.

 

_ Where is Ron? _ She scans the group desperately, but she doesn't see him. Is he dead? Panic seizes her, closing her throat, making it difficult to breathe. 

 

Rodolphus laughs, but it's cold and cruel. “He's a man, and he needs to learn.”

 

“Please...”

 

Hermione forces herself to take deep, even breaths. She can do this. She  _ has _ to do this. Narcissa needs her.

 

_ Where is Ron? _ she asks herself again, scanning the area she can see more closely. Ron would have wanted to go back for her. Did Narcissa fall behind and get caught or did they willingly split up, perhaps with the idea that Narcissa would be safer away from Bellatrix and Alecto since she didn't have a wand? 

 

Either could be true, but the exact scenario does not matter. If Ron was not caught with Narcissa then that meant he was nearby, watching and waiting the same as Hermione. That thought brings her a measure of peace, a wave of confidence and calm.

 

“That is not for you to decide,” Bellatrix snaps.

 

“I'm his uncle,” Rodolphus says with a sickly sweet edge to his voice.

 

“Not by blood, I'm his aunt, I'm his family, if anyone should be - ”

 

“And I'm his father,” Lucius says suddenly, straightening as though jolted from a trance. He glares at Bellatrix but it lacks any bite, and his face is pale.

 

Amycus laughs. “And what a fine example yeh've set there, Lucy.”

 

“Don't call me that,” Lucius snaps, but Amycus is only more gleeful for the reaction.

 

“And what're yeh gorn do about it?” he sneers. “Yer nothing now, Lucy, yer not better ‘en us anymore!”

 

As Amycus turns back to Narcissa, Hermione catches a flash of red through the window of a car.  _ Ron _ , she thinks. He must be sneaking his way around to get a better vantage point for whatever plan she's sure he's come up with.

 

“Right, where was I?” Amycus muses, shaking his sleeves out and raising his wand.

 

“Father!” Draco cries. “Do something! Stop him!”

 

“Silence, Draco,” Lucius snaps. He sounds furious, but he looks terrified.

 

Rodolphus twists Draco's arm behind his back. “Listen to your father, boy.”

 

Bellatrix rips Rodolphus off of Draco with a snarl, but she holds Draco’s upper arm in a tight grip. “Enough. Amycus, you've had your fun. It's time to take her to the Dark Lord, let him decide - ”

 

“Why don't we call him here?” Rodolphus says. Bellatrix whirls to face him. He grins. “He'd want to know. Saves time. Better to call him here and now than waste time taking her back to the manor.”

 

Bellatrix and Alecto both have gone very still. Draco tugs against Bellatrix's unyielding grip. The indecision and cowardice that Hermione remembers is gone.

 

Amycus laughs. “Go on, Lucy, summon the Dark Lord.”

 

Lucius jerks. He stares at Amycus intensely, though Hermione thinks he does not quite understand something. 

 

Amycus sneers. “Yeh talk big about loyalty, but prove it. Bet you won't. Yer no better than a traitor, aren't yeh?”

 

“Lucius,” Narcissa gasps.

 

Lucius twitches. His pale face whitens further. Hermione thinks he might be sick.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Bellatrix snaps, “the Dark Lord is not a house elf you can summon to settle your petty scores - ”

 

“Course not, but he's been dying to get his hands on ‘er, he'd want to know right quick, Lucy just don't want to do it cause he's not as loyal as he plays - ”

 

“Call the Dark Lord, Lucius,” Rodolphus challenges, ignoring his wife completely. “Amycus is right. He'll want to deal with her right away.”

 

Bellatrix goes rigid, and Alecto tenses up. Hermione sees the moment they realize they've lost control of the situation. So does Lucius.

 

He swallows, his eyes flicking to Rodolphus and Amycus.

 

“Father?” Draco says, a hint of horror in his voice.

 

“Lucius, please,” Narcissa pleads, but with shaking fingers, Lucius clumsily rolls up the sleeve of his robe, revealing his Dark Mark.

 

“Dad, no!” Draco cries, and now he’s beating Bellatrix’s arm with his fist, trying to get free, but Bellatrix stands rooted to the spot, unmoving, her eyes fixed on Lucius.

 

Amycus snickers, and Alecto’s eyes dart from Bellatrix to Lucius, whose fingers hover over his Mark, to Narcissa, who slumps to the ground crying softly. 

 

Hermione spots a flash of red hair. Ron pops his head up enough to see through the window of the cars, and Hermione waves to get his attention, hoping the Death Eaters are too distracted to notice. Ron meets her eyes and nods, and points from her to Narcissa. Hermione thinks she understands. She hopes she does. Ron holds up three fingers.

 

Three.

 

Lucius takes a deep breath, and Ron lowers a finger. 

 

Two.

 

Alecto turns her head abruptly, tense and alert, and Hermione’s stomach sinks when Alecto’s eyes meet hers.

 

One.

 

Looking sick, Lucius lowers his fingers towards the Dark Mark, his fingertips nearly brushing the tattoo -

 

“ _ Bombarda _ !” Ron cries, jumping out from behind the car, pointing his wand at the group. The pavement between the Death Eaters and Narcissa explodes, showering chunks of concrete into the air and pelting the Death Eaters, just as Alecto waves her wand and brings a shield up around her, Bellatrix and Draco.

 

Hermione sprints from the building toward Narcissa, who huddles in the street, arms over her head. Narcissa whimpers and hisses in pain when a large piece of concrete falls on her, pelting her side. 

 

“ _ Reducto! _ ” Hermione shouts, and the pavement bursts upward again, sending the Death Eaters stumbling back. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ron racing for them both. 

 

Hermione skids to a stop by Narcissa, grabbing her arm. She flings out a hand toward Ron. He grabs it, and Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on the first place that pops into her mind, and Apparates them away.


	17. Chapter 17

They land in a crumpled heap in the dimly lit living room of Hermione’s home. A thin layer of dust covers everything: the carpet, the coffee table, the couch, the mantle of the fireplace. A sharp pang aches in her chest, but she rips her attention from the reminders of what she’s lost when Narcissa lets out a broken sob beneath her. She refocuses on what she has now.

 

“Narcissa?” she asks, alarmed. She frantically runs her hands down Narcissa’s sides, her arms, her legs, trying to feel for what is wrong. Narcissa’s arms are hiding her face as she curls in on herself. She hisses when Hermione touches a spot on her side between her ribs and hip.

 

Hermione tries to lift the hem of Narcissa’s shirt to assess the damage. Narcissa slaps her hands away. Her eyes are bloodshot and tremors run through her whole body.

 

“Don’t touch me!” she snarls.

 

“You’re hurt! I have to see - ”

 

Narcissa attempts to drag herself further from Hermione, but the elbow she props herself on buckles under her, and she shivers. Her hair shifts, and Hermione sees a thin trail of blood trickling down Narcissa’s temple. Hermione gasps and reaches out, but Narcissa knocks her hand away again.

 

Ron grips Hermione’s shoulder. “Let’s get her on the couch, okay?”

 

Hermione reaches for Narcissa again who glares at her but allows her to touch her this time. Together, she and Ron loop Narcissa’s arms around their shoulders and help her to the couch. Hermione helps Narcissa lay down. Narcissa stares at the ceiling, refusing to look at either of them.

 

Ron looks around the room with interest. “Where are we?”

 

“My house,” Hermione answers automatically. She blinks back tears. “Well...it _was._ ” She’s hadn’t realized her parents had decided to keep the house before they left for Australia. It means they don’t have to worry about anyone disturbing them.

 

“Do you think the Death Eaters will find us here?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione says. “Narcissa, please, let me check your injuries so we can go - ”

 

“Then just go,” Narcissa snarls. “Both of you.”

 

Hermione stares at her helplessly. She looks to Ron who shrugs. Another tremor runs through Narcissa’s body. She places her hands on her stomach, and she runs a finger along her wedding band absently. A tear runs across her temple into her hair.

 

Hermione kneels beside the couch and gently rests a hand on top of Narcissa’s, feeling the long delicate fingers trembling against hers. Narcissa’s skin feels unnaturally hot, and Hermione wonders if that’s an after effect of the Cruciatus Curse.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispers.

 

Narcissa shifts her gaze to meet Hermione’s, and her lip trembles. “I thought he...”

 

Hermione brushes her thumb across the back of Narcissa’s hand, hoping the gesture gives her some measure of comfort.

 

“And Draco...” Narcissa tries to sit up and hisses in pain. Hermione pushes her back down. “What will happen to Draco? It will get back to the Dark Lord, and he’ll know Draco was going to disobey him - ”

 

“I’m sure Bellatrix will figure something out,” Hermione says soothingly, although she isn’t quite convinced. “She seemed to be really trying to protect him...”

 

“There is only so much Bellatrix can do,” Narcissa says.

 

“We’ll figure something out,” Hermione assures her. “Just...just rest a moment, let us check your injuries, and then we can make a plan, okay?”

 

Narcissa grasps Hermione’s hand. " _Promise_ me.”

 

“I promise. We won’t let anything happen to Draco.”

 

Behind her, she hears Ron scoff, but when she turns to glare at him, he’s staring at the fireplace, looking faintly embarrassed.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He turns to Hermione. “Can we talk for a second?”

 

“Sure,” Hermione says, standing up and crossing the room to the front door. “Just let me set some wards around the house and - ” She opens the door and freezes, feeling as though she’s plunged into ice water.

 

Bellatrix Lestrange stands on the front step, smiling darkly. “Hello, mudblood.”


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione leaps back, her wand snapping up. Bellatrix steps forward, brushing Hermione’s arm to the side.

 

“Now, now,” she drawls, “is that any way to greet the person who’s saving your lives?”

 

This is so far from what Hermione expects that she just stares dumbly, mouth hanging open as she struggles for words. Bellatrix places a finger under Hermione’s chin and closes her mouth.

 

“I know it’s difficult for someone of your filthy blood, but _do_ try to be more civilized.”

 

Hermione shivers, remembering the last time Bellatrix touched her: pinning her arm to the ground as she took a knife and cut the word _mudblood_ into her flesh like a brand.

 

“Don’t touch her,” Ron snarls from somewhere behind Hermione.

 

Bellatrix lazily flicks her wand, deflecting the spell Ron shoots at her. “Honestly. If we had more time, I’d teach you some manners.” Her voice is dark and dangerous, her eyes glinting with something deadly. Her gaze shifts from Ron to the couch. “Hello, Cissy.”

 

Narcissa struggles to sit up. Ron tries to stop her, but she knocks his hand away. She hisses in pain, one hand clamping to her side. “Bellatrix.”

 

Bellatrix’s brow furrows. “You’re injured. From more than the curse.”

 

“What do you want, Bella? To gloat before you kill me?” Narcissa growls.

 

Bellatrix stops short. Hermione’s fingers flex around the handle of her wand. Bellatrix’s wand twitches upward, and like a shot Narcissa wrestles Ron’s wand from his hand and points it at Bellatrix, her teeth grit in pain.

 

“Really, Cissy?” Bellatrix murmurs. “Your own sister?”

 

Narcissa’s brow furrows in confusion for the briefest of moments.

 

“Give me back my wand,” Ron mutters out of the corner of his mouth. Narcissa ignores him.

 

Bellatrix slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out a wand. She flips it in her hand so that she grips it by the tip - and holds it out towards Narcissa, whose eyes widen at the sight of it.

 

“My wand,” she says.

 

“Your wand,” Bellatrix agrees.

 

“But then...what wand does Draco have?” Narcissa asks, beginning to panic.

 

“His own. He retrieved it after Potter was killed. But he’s been using yours for...sentimental reasons, I suppose.”

 

“You suppose?”

 

Bellatrix scoffs. “It’s not like he talks about it. And we both know it’s safer for him if I don’t ask.”

 

Hesitantly, Narcissa reaches out. Bellatrix steps forward until she’s close enough for Narcissa to take her wand.

 

Ron snatches his wand back from Narcissa, rolling his eyes. “Thank Merlin, I was getting real sick of you doing that.”

 

Bellatrix eyes him with disdain. “It’s your fault she was able to do that in the first place. Why have you gone _months_ without a wand anyway? What were you thinking?”

 

“We were _thinking_ ,” Narcissa snaps, “that it was too dangerous to go anywhere we could get one.”

 

“So you came to London? _That_ seemed safe to you?”

 

Hermione snaps, “What choice did we have? We needed to know what was going on!”

 

“There are a hundred ways you could have found out what you needed to know that didn’t involve coming to _fucking London_ \- ”

 

“And what were those?”

 

“A radio for a start - ”

 

“Which we couldn’t get because we couldn’t get anywhere near - ”

 

“Enough,” Narcissa snaps. She sits up and hisses, clamping her hand tighter to her side. “We’re wasting time. Draco made a scene back there, Rodolphus and Amycus will tell the Dark Lord - ”

 

Bellatrix places her hands on Narcissa’s shoulders. “Draco is fine,” she says soothingly. “Alecto is taking care of it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Narcissa demands.

 

“Alecto is modifying everyone’s memories to think that Draco stayed quiet.”

 

“Even Draco?”

 

“No.” Bellatrix shakes her head. “He’ll remember what happened. Alecto will tell the others they were knocked when you created the distraction, which is true - ”

 

“Knocked out?” Narcissa blinks. “Bella, tell me you didn’t stun them! If the Dark Lord finds out - ”

 

“He won’t because they won’t remember what Alecto and I did. Except for Draco, who won’t say a word. As I was saying, Alecto will tell the others they were knocked out when you blew up the street, and I chased after you.”

 

Narcissa grabs Bellatrix’s arm. “Promise me Draco will be safe.”

 

“I promise, Cissy.” Bellatrix gently pries Narcissa’s hand from her arm. She brushes her fingertips against Narcissa’s hairline where the thin trail of blood, now dried, had trinkled from her temple. “Will you let me look at your injuries?”

 

Narcissa says nothing, but she doesn’t push Bellatrix away when she bends over her to examine her head nor when she lifts Narcissa’s shirt to look at her side. Hermione winces at the nasty bruise forming there.

 

“I don’t suppose you have a poultice for this,” Bellatrix muses.

 

“We used the last of it,” Hermione says, “when Ron got injured by Snatchers while he was gathering supplies a few weeks back.”

 

“I’ll have Kreacher bring you some tonight,” Bellatrix says.

 

The front door opens, and Alecto Carrow strolls inside. She slams it closed behind her. She eyes Narcissa, her shirt half-lifted, and opens her mouth, a smirk curving her lips. Hermione grits her teeth, hating the glint in Alecto’s eyes. Bellatrix glares at her, and Alecto appears to think better of whatever she was about to say. She coughs as a poor cover.

 

“What are you doing here?” Bellatrix asks, tugging Narcissa’s shirt back down irritably, still glaring at Alecto.

 

Hermione almost thinks Bellatrix is jealous, and she raises her eyebrows, her lips twitching in amusement. Ron shoots her a baffled look, and she shakes her head. She’ll explain later.

 

Alecto coughs again. “Came to tell yeh the boy’s fine. Bit shaken, though.”

 

“And everyone’s memories?”

 

“Modified best I could. The Dark Lord’ll be able to find ‘em, o’ course, but he’d have to be lookin’ for ‘em,” Alecto says. “Yeh alright, Narcissa? Amycus didn’t give yeh too much trouble?”

 

Narcissa, Bellatrix and Hermione glare heatedly at her, but she doesn’t seem fazed this time.

 

“Shouldn't you be with my son?” Narcissa demands. “And if _you_ know we're here then how is it that the others won't?”

 

“Cause I told ‘em to report back to the Dark Lord, that's how, and they got all panicky and vanished,” Alecto says. “Seems like they're not too keen on the Dark Lord knowin’ yeh all slipped through their fingers so they'll be off pretending now they weren't here and nothin’ happened.”

 

“I'm impressed,” Narcissa says. “It seems you do have an intelligent thought in your head after all.”

 

Alecto frowns, her eyes dimming briefly, before her face twists in anger. But before she can say anything, Bellatrix hisses, “Cissy” and Ron finally bursts out, “So what, we're just going to trust them?”

 

Everyone turns to him. He's red in the face, and he turns to Hermione with a disbelieving expression.

 

“We're just trusting You-Know-Who isn't going turn up any second because _they_ said so? _She_ ” - he points as Bellatrix - “tortured you and _she”_ \- he turns to Alecto - “did horrible things to our friends at Hogwarts! They're together! They're Death Eaters! We can't trust them.”

 

“If we wanted yeh dead, boy, yeh already would be,” Alecto drawls. “Bella here could take all of yeh with her wand hand tied behind her back.” She looks at Bellatrix with pride. “She's _very_ good.”

 

To Hermione's surprise, Bellatrix's cheeks tinge pink, and she shivers slightly.

 

Narcissa rolls her eyes. “Please keep it in the bedroom, you two, I do _not_ have the patience to deal with this.”

 

Bellatrix chokes. “Cissy!”

 

Alecto snickers, and Bellatrix shoots her a glare.

 

Ron looks ready to explode. Hermione cuts in, moving to stand behind the couch and murmurs in Narcissa’s ear, “Are you _sure_ we can trust them?”

 

Narcissa meets her eyes. Their faces are close enough that Hermione feels the gentle breeze of Narcissa’s breath on her cheek.

 

“Yes,” Narcissa whispers after a moment. “I believe we can. Remember what we heard before? That night we hid from them in that town?”

 

Hermione remembers. Bellatrix had shown ambivalence then, and Alecto had accepted it - nearly encouraged it, although perhaps it would be better to say she already knew what Bellatrix had not yet admitted.

 

“Okay,” she says. Because Hermione trusts Narcissa, and she will trust her judgement in this.

 

“You can't be serious.” Ron scoffs and shakes his head.

 

“Listen, we need all the help we can get if we're going to get the snake and take down You-Know-Who - ”

 

“No,” Bellatrix says abruptly, stopping Hermione short.

 

“No?” she asks, confused. “No what?”

 

“I am not going to help you destroy the Dark Lord. I will help my sister hide and you with her only because you saved her and have helped her since. But I will not betray my Lord.”

 

“But aren't you already - ” Hermione starts confused. She stops when she sees Alecto shaking her head warningly from behind Bellatrix, who cannot see her. “Uh...I mean...thank you anyway.”

 

The words taste bitter on her tongue, and her scars ache with phantom pain.

 

“If you'll excuse me, I'd like to speak with my sister. Privately.”

 

Hermione takes Ron by the arm and leads him away from the couch. Alecto shuffles over to them and murmurs, “Bella is very loyal. Conflicting loyalties...well, best to let her work them out herself, see?”

 

Hermione isn't sure she does, but as she watches Bellatrix and Narcissa murmur to each other quietly, she thinks that she's never been in such a position as Bellatrix either.


	19. Chapter 19

Grimwood Manor - commonly known as Black Manor - sits at the base of a mountain range. Hermione isn't quite sure where they are. When Bellatrix had left them that afternoon, she had ordered them to lay low for a few hours before making their way here.

 

“I don't live at Black Manor,” she said, “and I have little reason to visit, but it would not be noteworthy if I do - especially not given what I plan to ask of the Dark Lord.” She did not answer when Narcissa asked what that was, but her eyes darted to Alecto, and Narcissa seemed to have understood.

 

“Be careful,” Narcissa said, and then softly, “And good luck.”

 

Narcissa leads the way through the main gates and up a path toward the front door. The gardens are a bit overgrown but still beautiful. The paint on the house is chipped and dull in a few places, but overall it looks much better cared for than Grimmauld Place. Perhaps the house elf that undoubtedly lived here - or still does - took better care of it or perhaps Narcissa’s parents lived longer than Sirius's did and so the house has not been uninhabited for as long as Grimmauld Place.

 

It's a darkly handsome manor in the same way as Grimmauld Place, however, and Hermione wonders if all the Black properties share the same dark and brooding aesthetic.

 

The front door sticks a bit when Narcissa opens it, and Hermione winces at the way Narcissa furiously slams her shoulder into it to force it open.

 

“I don't think that was strictly necessary,” she says.

 

Narcissa shoots her a heated glare, though her eyes are still bloodshot and wet, and Hermione realizes it isn't about the door at all.

 

“I'm sorry,” she says softly.

 

Narcissa ignores her and storms inside. With a flick of her wand, the lanterns on the walls spark to life. Looking closer, Hermione realizes the light is coming from candles inside the glass cages. Perhaps the old gas lamps in Grimmauld Place came with the house. How old is Grimmauld Place? How old is _this_ place?

 

Hermione wants to ask, but Narcissa is already gone, deeper into the house.

 

“What a cheery bunch, the Blacks,” Ron mutters, and he runs a finger over an empty end table pushed against the wall. A thin layer of dust comes away on his finger. “Not much dust. Bellatrix claims no one lives here, right?”

 

“Must be a house elf,” Hermione says. “I wonder where they are.”

 

“Dead, probably,” says Narcissa, coming back into the room. Her backpack is gone, dropped somewhere in the house. “She was old. Our mother died only a few years ago, I'm sure it wasn't that difficult for Bellatrix to clean up herself. That said - don't touch...most things, actually. My family has a lot of dark artifacts, and Bellatrix won't have bothered to remove them.”

 

“More house cleaning,” Ron mutters. “Great.”

 

Then to Hermione, he whispers, “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to trust _Bellatrix_ , Hermione? This could be a trap!”

 

“Why would she do that? What does she have to gain?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ron says, clearly frustrated.

 

“You didn’t see the look on her face when Narcissa was being tortured,” Hermione says, remembering the way Bellatrix’s face had drained of color. “And she _was_ against the other Death Eaters calling for You-Know-Who. I think she was trying to come up with a way for Narcissa to escape.”

 

Ron frowns. “Are you sure? Maybe they think we know where the others are.”

 

“ _What_ others?” Hermione asks. “We don’t know anything about what’s been going on, and we don’t even know if there _are_ others.”

 

“But _they_ don’t know that!” Ron looks away, jaw clenched. When he turns back to her, he says, “You’re positive about this?”

 

Hermione thinks hard for a moment. This is a big risk, but everything comes back to one core issue. “Narcissa believes her.”

 

“Yeah, well, she also believed Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t betray her either, and we just saw how that - ” Ron stops, clamming up, and a second later, Narcissa storms past them toward the front door. She throws it open and slams it closed behind her.

 

Ron sighs. “Do you want to...? Only she seems to listen to you better than me - ”

 

“I’ll go talk to her,” Hermione says.


	20. Chapter 20

The grounds of Black Manor are mostly beautiful. A little overgrown, but with an assortment of dark and beautiful flowers, a few hedges hiding the fences around the grounds that need a bit of a trim, and a marble fountain in the middle. Narcissa stares at the fountain, fiddling with her wedding band.

 

“Narcissa?” Hermione asks. She places a hand on Narcissa’s arm. “Are you alright?”

 

“Of course not,” Narcissa snaps, though this time she does not pull away from Hermione’s touch. “My husband...”

 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione isn’t sure what to do. What to say. What _can_ she say? “Maybe he thought...” she starts and trails off because she can’t even begin to think of what she could say that would make any of this better.

 

Narcissa scoffs. Then she glances at Hermione, eyes softening. “Thank you. For trying.”

 

“I wish I could do more.”

 

Narcissa doesn’t respond. She stares at the fountain, watching the water flow down from the top. “I think...maybe I knew, deep down, that Lucius wouldn’t choose me. But still...I’d hoped...”

 

“Because you would have chosen him,” Hermione says. “If he had betrayed You-Know-Who.”

 

“Yes,” Narcissa whispers. “I would have chosen him.”

 

Hermione thinks of what Alecto said to Bellatrix all those months ago when they had hid and listened, about not being able to understand what Lucius was doing. Hermione doesn’t understand it either. Or maybe she does. If Ron turned to the Death Eaters, she wouldn’t follow him. If Narcissa went back, Hermione would never turn against her principles. Maybe it’s just that she can’t understand what’s so appealing about the world that Voldemort envisions that she can’t imagine why anyone would chose that vision over someone they proclaimed to love.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispers, blinking back tears. She hates seeing Narcissa so defeated.

 

Narcissa places a hand over Hermione’s, and they stand in silence for a while.

 

“Thank you again, Hermione,” Narcissa murmurs. “I...I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I wish there was something I could do to thank you.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ve barely done anything.”

 

Narcissa smiles slightly. “You saved my life. Twice now. Protected me. Tried to keep my spirits up.” She lowers her eyes. “I know I haven’t been the best to be around or even the most helpful.”

 

“You were worried about your family,” Hermione says. “It’s understandable.”

 

Narcissa’s lip twitches upward in a flash of a wider smile. “Thank you... Speaking of family...you said that house we were in was yours. But it didn’t look like anyone had lived there for quite some time...”

 

Hermione blinks against the tears that sting her eyes. “I changed my parents memories. They don’t know who they are or that I even exist. They’re in Australia.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes widen. Hermione lowers her eyes.

 

“I couldn’t think of how else to keep them safe. They’re muggles, you see, and if the Death Eaters came after them...”

 

“So you stole their memories? Made them forget their own daughter?”

 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Hermione snaps, glaring at Narcissa. “It’s not like I had anyone to talk to, and I couldn’t tell them - they wouldn’t have understood - I _didn’t know what else to do_!” She drops her gaze to her shoes, tears falling to the ground at her feet.

 

Narcissa doesn’t say anything for a long time. Hermione closes her eyes, not able to bear the silent judgement.

 

Thin arms wrap around Hermione’s shoulders and pull her against Narcissa’s body. Hermione stiffens in surprise. But Narcissa rubs her back gently, and  Hermione relaxes against her, wraps her arms around Narcissa and buries her face in her shoulder. She clutches at the back of Narcissa’s shirt.

 

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa murmurs. “I can’t imagine... I only thought if someone had made me forget Draco, but I didn’t think...”

 

“If I thought the Order would have been able to keep them safe...but Dumbledore had just died and...”

 

Narcissa rubs her back soothingly. They stand like that for several minutes until a sharp _crack_ startles them apart.

 

“Kreacher!” Hermione gasps.

 

Kreacher looks a little better since she last saw him. Bellatrix gave him a pillowcase to wear instead of his filthy loin cloth, and he looks much better for it. His demeanor has changed too. Hermione likes to think that Harry’s kindness had something to do with it, but she suspects that Bellatrix has been a far greater influence than Harry was able to be.

 

“Mudblood,” he croaks, though his voice lacks the bite it had when she had first met him that summer before fifth year. Hermione will take the progress. She notices the satchel he struggles to carry. “Mistress Bellatrix sends Kreacher with supplies for Miss Cissy.”

 

Narcissa stoops to take the satchel from Kreacher and hisses in pain, a hand going to her side where Hermione had seen the nasty bruise forming.

 

“Miss Cissy is injured,” Kreacher says, worriedly.

 

“Yes, but these supplies will help tremendously.”

 

“Kreacher lives to serve.” He bows low. “Mistress Bellatrix will send Kreacher with more supplies tomorrow, she says. She tells Miss Cissy, the mudblood and the blood traitor to stay put, she says. She tells Kreacher to make sure Miss Cissy understands. She tells Kreacher to tell the mudblood and blood traitor she will kill them slowly if they do anything that risks bringing Death Eaters to Miss Cissy.”

 

Hermione grits her teeth. She’s certain Bellatrix likely used even harsher language than Kreacher feels comfortable repeating in front of Narcissa.

 

“Thank you, Kreacher. Please tell Bellatrix - ” Narcissa pauses. She sounds annoyed, but takes a deep breath, rolls her eyes, and then says in a calmer tone. “Nevermind. I’ll tell Bellatrix when I see her.”

 

Kreacher bows low. “Of course, Miss Cissy.”

 

Hermione has a sneaking suspicion that Kreacher will relay Narcissa’s eye roll to Bellatrix and that is all Narcissa has to say to her on the subject.


	21. Chapter 21

They decide to sleep on the floor in the drawing room their first night, which is the cleanest room they can find. The house isn’t in the same state of disrepair that Grimmauld Place had been, and it won’t require anywhere near the same amount of effort to clean it up, but they are tired, and even casting a few spells to make the beds usable is more than they are willing to do. 

 

“It’s for the best anyway,” Ron says, carrying some clean bed sheets he found tucked away in the laundry room. “We don’t want to be caught off guard if we’re attacked.”

 

Narcissa looks like she wants to argue with Ron - perhaps with the implicit implication that Bellatrix is not trustworthy - but Hermione touches her arm gently, and she huffs out an aggravated breath but says nothing. She fishes through the bag Kreacher brought instead, laying out the contents on the floor in front of them, and leans back against the couch. Bellatrix had packed them some simple sandwiches and some flasks of water along with some bandages and poultices. 

 

Hermione stares at the flasks with furrowed brows. “Is something wrong with the water here?”

 

Narcissa frowns thoughtfully. “No. I tested it earlier, when we first came in. I rather suspect this is Bellatrix’s attempt to make sure I rest.” She smiles. “When I was sick as a child, I would use the excuse of needing water to get up when I should have been resting.”

 

Narcissa laughs, a genuine one, and there’s a spark in her eyes Hermione has never seen before. “One time, I woke up to no less than twenty glasses of water in my room. Bellatrix and Andromeda had gotten so tired of me using that excuse.”

 

Hermione smiles. “Good to know. How many glasses of water do you think are in these flasks? I don’t think we have enough.”

 

Narcissa nudges her playfully with her shoulder then grimaces in pain. She reaches for the poultice container. “I should - ”

 

Hermione scoops it up. “Let me. Just hold your shirt up. I’ll put it on. It’ll be easier.”

 

Narcissa hesitates. She glances at Ron who is determinedly making up beds for them using the sheets he found and beating the dust from throw pillows. When he keeps his eyes fixed on his task, she complies with Hermione’s request.

 

Hermione hisses in sympathy when she sees Narcissa’s side. It had not looked good before, the bruising as only darkened and worsened. She gingerly rubs the poultice over Narcissa’s side. Any other time, she might be distracted by the feeling of Narcissa’s soft skin under her fingers - but for now, she focuses only on trying not to apply too much pressure and on evenly distributing the poultice over the entire bruise. When she’s done, she helps Narcissa wrap bandages around her torso, careful not to pull them too tight.

 

“I hope that helps,” Hermione says. She’s a bit worried the injury might be more serious than they think, but Narcissa relaxes against back against the couch with a sigh of relief, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. 

 

“Is it working?”

 

“Yes,” Narcissa sighs. She opens her eyes and looks at Hermione. “Thank you. I appreciate the help.” 

 

“Anytime,” Hermione says with a smile. 

 

She helps Narcissa over to the couch. Narcissa lays down, and Hermione drapes the blanket over her, grabs a throw pillow and tucks it under Narcissa’s head. She can practically feel Ron’s gaze burning into the back of her skull. Her cheeks feel hot, but she ignores him. Narcissa falls asleep almost immediately, and Hermione wonders if there might be something added to the poultice to aid in sleep or if Narcissa is simply exhausted from the day’s events.

 

Hermione picks one of the makeshift beds Ron created by pushing chairs together. As she settles down, Ron finally speaks.

 

“Is there something going on between you two?” He doesn’t sound accusatory, merely cautious. Curious.

 

Hermione pulls a blanket tight around her and closes her eyes. “She needed help. Go to sleep, Ron.”

 

Ron doesn’t move for a long moment, perhaps wanting to say more. Hermione is thankful when he finally sighs and goes to bed. 


	22. Chapter 22

Bellatrix visits the next morning while Hermione and Narcissa are exploring the gardens. The way she stumbles through the front gates, wild and worse for wear, has Hermione reaching for her wand in a panic. Surely they’ve been discovered, perhaps Bellatrix has come to kill them after all -

 

Narcissa rushes to Bellatrix. “What happened?”

 

“Excellent news, Cissy!” Bellatrix crows, but her eyes have bags under them and a deep bruise is forming on her cheek. She shakes and her knees buckle, but she catches herself, hands gripping Narcissa’s shoulders.

 

“Bella!”

 

Bellatrix laughs and spits a gob of blood onto the ground at her feet. “My plan worked, Cissy! I have his support. I’m getting divorced!” She cackles again, ecstatic, teeth stained light red with her own blood.

 

Hermione shivers, willing herself not to step back. She refuses to show fear in front of Bellatrix.

 

Narcissa gingerly grabs Bellatrix by the chin and wipes at the blood on Bellatrix’s lips with her sleeve.

 

“Bella, please, you can’t take risks like this - ” Thumbing over the bruise on Bellatrix’s cheek, Narcissa frowns. “Did  _ he _ do this to you?”

 

“No. He punished me last night. Alecto tried to help lessen the after effects, but...he was furious.”

 

“Then who hit you?”

 

“Good ole Roddy. I told him this morning - just before I came here - he wasn’t happy. Reopened where I bit my cheek during the Dark Lord’s punishment last night.”

 

It chills Hermione how casually Bellatrix speaks of  _ punishment _ as if she does not mean  _ torture _ . How calmly she refers to being hit by her own husband.

 

“Does your husband hit you often?” Hermione asks, appalled. 

 

Bellatrix scoffs. “Never, Mudblood, not that it’s any of your business. I let him have this. Something for the road.” She cackles. 

 

“You’d have been so proud of Draco, Cissy, the way he tossed Rod out on his arse - ”

 

Narcissa’s lips twitch for a brief second. “I would be much happier if you didn’t take risks or let yourself be hit.”

 

Bellatrix ignored her concern. “It’s fine, Cissy.” She grinned. “It’s all coming together. Soon I’ll be free to court Alecto openly - ”

 

Narcissa rolls her eyes and says, as though automatically, “Ah, yes, what a  _ fine _ match that’ll make - ”

 

She stops abruptly, and Bellatrix’s expression darkens.

 

“How fitting, isn’t it,” Bellatrix says with quiet anger, “that only  _ you _ got to have everything you wanted?”

 

“I’m sorry, Bella, I shouldn’t have - ” Narcissa draws Bellatrix into a hug. “I channelled Mother. I’m sorry.”

 

“I love her, Cissy,” Bellatrix says, a hint of pleading in her tone. For a moment, she appears as though she wants to say more. Then, as though deciding that’s all that needs to be said, she hugs Narcissa back.

 

Hermione is positive they’ve both forgotten she’s there. Feeling as though she’s intruding on a private moment between the sisters, she tries to sneak away, but some gravel crunches underfoot, and Bellatrix pulls away from Narcissa, angry gaze snapping toward Hermione.

 

“What are you doing, Mudblo - ” Bellatrix starts, but Narcissa squeezes her arm.

 

“Enough, Bella. Play nice for once, won’t you?”

 

Bellatrix glares at Hermione. She says nothing more, though, and it’s a good enough start in Hermione’s opinion.

 

Narcissa must agree because she starts back toward the manor. “Let’s go inside and discuss what comes next, shall we?”


End file.
